Evenings with Lenny
by Duppy Conqueror
Summary: Set between Ryan's firing and his reinstatement. What's a guy to do when advice is coming from all sides? Listen to Lenny. RaVe, R&R. T for now, but maybe M later, depending on your take on things.
1. Chapter 1

Disclaimer: I own nothing belonging to CSI: Miami or Lenny Bruce, but he believed in free speech so I think he'd be ok with it. Chapter title comes from the Duke Ellington song of the same name.

Author's Note: Clearly, this is pretty AU as Ryan and Valera have never been a couple (as far as we know). But, I can picture Ryan as a Lenny Bruce fan especially since Jonathan Togo has said he plays the character as someone who is probably really good with numbers but has no tact. Other than that I guess I am playing fast and loose with the characters, but isn't that the point of fan fiction?

Evenings with Lenny

Chapter 1: Mood Indigo

"Let me tell you the truth. The truth is _what is_. And _what should be_ is a fantasy, a terrible, terrible lie that someone gave to the people long ago."

"Miami Beach is where neon goes to die."

-Lenny Bruce 1925-1966

Ryan Wolfe sighed for the fifth time in five minutes, and stared at the blinking display on his alarm clock. 4:00am…4:01am…4:02am…4:03am…4:04am…4:05am. He had startled awake at four am each morning for the last two months. Ever since he'd been fired from the Miami Dade Crime Lab and told to hand over his gun and badge. Every night when he lay down Ryan prayed it wouldn't happen again, that he'd have some peace for the few hours he managed to sleep these days. But it seemed, as it had for many months now, that fate, the world and everybody in it was against him, because there he was, awake and panicked. It always happened the same way. Sometime after midnight he'd lie down and fall into a fitful sleep. Then, at precisely four am his eyes would open, and it would feel like someone had knocked the wind out of his lungs.

Ryan usually spent the first minute wondering where the hell he was, what was going on, and why he was awake. At 4:01 reality would set in faster than an infestation, and he'd sigh loudly followed by a groan. At 4:02 he would relive instantaneously, and in great detail, every unpleasant moment of his professional life thus far. Calleigh bawling him out at the TV studio figured prominently in this montage from Hell. As did the moment Horatio cornered him and uttered the name Michael Lipton. From 4:03 to 4:04 he'd think about Valera and their relationship, or former relationship. Gambling hadn't only cost him his job; it had also ruined things between him and Valera. Then from 4:05 till the moment he fell back to sleep, or his alarm went off, whichever came first, Ryan would torture himself with wondering if he'd ever work again in his chosen field, if his parents would ever forgive him for losing his job, and if his friends and co-workers would ever respect him again.

Ryan rolled onto his back, rubbed his eyes, and tried to decide what he was going to anxiously fixate on first. He chose his parents and their disappointment first, mostly because they did not know the full extent of his shame, and this made them easier to think about. They knew he'd been fired because the Under Sheriff and Internal Affairs thought he had conducted himself unprofessionally, they just didn't know the nature of his transgression. Ryan knew his parents did not truly understand what it was he did for a living. Obfuscation engendered hope. He had just thrown a bunch of forensic terms at them, made it sound like he'd gone too far in trying to get a conviction, and was quick to mention that his peers thought his dismissal was ridiculous. It was a lie to be sure, but Ryan was convinced it was better this way. Royally fucking up an investigation or compromising evidence he could recover from in their eyes. Gambling addiction was another thing entirely. He was sure his father would drop dead of disappointment if he ever found out his only son had lost his job over poker.

Of course this clever ruse would only continue to work if he got reinstated soon. Otherwise his parents would start to wonder just how he managed to permanently lose his job for being overzealous, yet careless. Ryan could tell his sister Rachel, (insert his mother's voice cooing, "The lawyer of the family", here) was starting to smell something wrong in the broth. He'd plead nondisclosure with her, and made up another lie; that the nature of the investigation he botched was ongoing and sensitive so he couldn't explain any of the details to her for fear of getting in more trouble. Rachel had been placated at first but was becoming less docile by the day. She teetered between trying to catch him in his lie and offering her legal assistance if this really was a case of wrongful dismissal.

Rachel also had questions about Valera, or rather, _Maxine_. Rachel and _Maxine_ got along, Rachel liked _Maxine_. Rachel didn't really understand how _Maxine _could break up with him at a time like this. Ryan hadn't expected his sister to become friends with his girlfriend. He figured that living in one of the most southern states while his family continued to reside in Boston and New York would save him from that whole racket. This was not the case, as evidently women could bond over the phone without ever having laid eyes on each other. Whatever had transpired in the few times Valera had answered his phone when Ryan was not available was enough to convince Rachel that "Maxine would not just up and leave you because you lost your job under unfair circumstances Ry-an. Give her, and me, some credit". Rachel's phone calls were all beginning to boil down to the same thing; what did you really do this time Ry-an?

Ryan moaned again and tried to block out the sound of his sister's voice in his head. He dearly loved her, and he couldn't fault her too much, he was after all lying to her and his parents. It was just that the snottier Rachel got, the more Jewish Mother she sounded. Ryan already had one of those. One was plenty, but he'd learned long ago that calling Rachel on it would get him a lecture about being a self-hating Jew. Ryan laughed to himself at this last thought. How little the people we love actually know us. If Rachel really knew him she'd know that at the moment he disliked himself for things a lot bigger and smaller than religion. In fact, Ryan was having a hard time remembering when he had last liked the person he saw in the mirror. He'd always been cynical, but he was getting to be too much of a downer for even his own tastes.

And that, he mused, might have been the reason things went wrong with Valera and his job in the first place. Valera. Ryan heaved a sigh and looked at his bedside clock. It was now 4:30 am. He'd spent the requisite half hour worrying about his family, now it was apparently time to move onto Valera. This would be the more gut-wrenching part of his nightly ruminations, given that Valera did know the full extent of his problems. She probably knew more than anyone else. And that was why he'd ended it, not her. Just one more lie he'd told his parents and his sister. Things between them hadn't been great just before he lost his job, and they were certainly worse after. Valera had been pissed as it was over how much time he'd spent playing poker online. When she found out he'd started doing it for real, in person, with as it turned out, criminals, she'd lost it.

She'd also gone to Calleigh, Eric and finally Horatio, and told them the extent of his problem. This had pushed Ryan over the edge. Getting caught gambling on work time had got him fired, and taught him a lesson. He'd told Valera that and promised he'd get help. All he had asked was for her discretion and support. As far as his friends and his boss knew he'd only gotten himself mixed up in one bad poker game. Ryan didn't think they needed to know about the online poker, the resulting credit card debt, or Valera's intuition that "something just wasn't right" with him these days. First Calleigh and Eric had confronted him, and then Horatio had given him a life talk that involved the older man calling him "son" a lot. With each concerned look from his supervisor Ryan had felt his chances of getting reinstated slipping further and further away. Afterwards, Ryan had driven straight to Valera's apartment and demanded to know why she had betrayed him. He could still see the disbelief in her eyes, and hear the anger in her voice.

xxXxx

"Betray you? You think I betrayed you! Ryan I am trying to help you!" Valera was standing in the middle of her living room, arms crossed and eyes fierce.

Ryan's stance was no less aggressive and his words were clipped with anger. "Help me? How does implying I'm a gambling addict to my supervisor and co-workers equal helping me Maxine?"

Valera moved closer to him, got up in his face and he could see the unshed tears in her eyes. "Because Ryan, your supervisor and your co-workers are also your friends. My friends too. They aren't blind or deaf, they knew something was up."

"What they knew was that I'd played a bad hand of poker in a high stakes game. Now they're acting like this is an episode of Intervention!" Ryan retorted.

Maxine's reply was to roll her eyes and shake her head. She turned away from him to try and bring herself under control. Ryan was having none of it. He walked forward and spun her around by the arms to look at him.

"Do you understand what you've done Maxine? Do you?" he resisted the urge to shake her, but only just. "It's bad enough you involved Horatio, but if this gets around the department…you've completely jeopardized my chances of reinstatement."

Valera's tears finally fell then, and she slumped in his hold. She placed her hands on Ryan's shoulders and pushed him back to look him in the eye. "No Ryan. You did that all on your own." The words were whispers, barely audible, but they tore him apart.

"I told you. I told you I was sorry. I know I messed up Maxine. I told you I'd get help, but I asked you keep the rest of it between us. I thought you understood that."

This statement only made her cry harder, and she balled her fists in his shirt. "I can't. I can't anymore," she said between sobs.

"Can't what? Can't what Maxine?" Ryan moved his hands from her arms to her face, she let go of his shirt to push him away.

"You know what I understand Ryan?" She was standing taller now, wiping her nose with her fist. "I understand that I have lied for you, and too myself for too long. I knew you were playing too much poker. I watched you sit at your laptop day and night, whenever you had a moment to spare. I understand that I have dealt with your shitty attitude towards everything since you started losing. I understand I have lied to our friends about why you flake on plans with them, and why you're always broke lately. And the whole time I kept telling myself that because I love you it can't be that bad. Because I didn't want to face that my boyfriend is an addict."

"Jesus Maxine, you make it sound like I'm shooting up in alleyways while pimping you for drug money. And I promise you I am getting help."

"You promise do you?" Her voice was cold and collected now. "Just like when you maxed all your credit cards out and lost all your savings on the online stuff you promised to stop playing poker. When all you did was stop playing it in front of me. You went and lost $10,000 to a criminal Ryan!"

Valera took a deep breath and continued. "I can't trust you when you say you promise anymore. And I couldn't keep watching you dig yourself into a deeper hole. So yes, I went to our friends and I told them the truth. If it forces you to confront just how much trouble you're in, and the pain it's causing you, and consequently me, it's worth it."

"So that's it then. I'm an addict, and you don't trust me, and I obviously don't deserve the chance to redeem myself because you've ensured I won't do that any time soon at work." Ryan mumbled running a hand through his hair.

"Ryan I didn't say you don't deserve a chance. I'm trying to give you that chance by getting you help. I want…"

"No, no Maxine you're right." He backed away from her towards the door. "We can't keep doing this. I mean, I thought, I trusted you with my, I'm sorry I can't do this right now. I'm gonna leave."

"No Ryan!" She'd grabbed his coat then. "Don't leave, please, I'm worried about you."

He looked down at her. She looked desperately afraid. At first he considered staying, thinking she really did not want to end what was between them. Then he looked harder and her eyes told a different story. Her fear wasn't of losing him, it was for him. He recognized the emotions in her eyes as the same ones he'd seen in Horatio's earlier; sadness, disappointment and fear that he was beyond the reach of a helping hand. He'd been angry but accepting of Horatio's reaction to his situation, but he'd expected more from Valera. He'd hoped she'd be his support through the tough times that lay ahead.

Ryan was ashamed that he had apparently put her through hell already, and devastated that she wasn't able to bank on him to make it right.

Ryan pushed her hands away. "It's okay Max, I'll be fine. I'm sorry I hurt you, and dragged you through this with me. But I'm going to make things right. And I can do it on my own. You don't have to worry or lie anymore."

Ryan backed away with his hands in the air as if to surrender.

Valera ignored his signals and made to embrace him. "But, but that's just it Ryan. You don't have to do this alone, no one does. Don't you see that's why I involved Horatio and the others? You need support and-

"What I need is to leave. I'll handle this Max." Ryan moved further from her grasp.

"What are you saying? I know I was mean earlier Ryan, but it was only the truth. I just want to help you. We can work through this together."

"No Maxine, we can't."

She was shaking her head now. "Don't say that."

"We're not a good idea right now Max. We can't do this without trust. I, I understand your concern. But I'll deal with this from here."

He left her then. She called him for hours afterwards, but he didn't pick up. She'd shown up at his apartment, spare key in hand to plead with him. She wouldn't leave so he did. When he returned in the wee hours of the morning she was gone, and the key was sitting alone on his kitchen counter. Part of him was disappointed that she'd given in so easily, but another part, the bigger part was relieved.

xxXxx

Ryan paused in reliving the end of him and Valera as a couple long enough to check the clock again. It was now 5:00 am, and daylight would soon break over Miami and fight its way through the cracks in his blinds. There was no sense in going back to sleep even if he didn't have to be at the gun range until nine. But if he got up he'd have to find something to do with the next four hours. Ryan considered moving on to the next part of his early morning routine. Usually after he fixated on everything that was wrong with his life he tried to formulate plans to set it all to right. He dismissed this as an option because he was not in the mood for it. His urge to redress his life situation had been fierce the first few weeks of his dismissal, but the gun range, scraping to make a living and his own despondence were combining to create apathy within him. Ryan knew that he couldn't afford to not be proactive, but he also couldn't face lying there for next two hours thinking about nothing but his screw ups. So he chose to be active, but in a way that had nothing to do with his worries. He'd go for a run. It was active, it was calming and it sure beat lying in bed being miserable.

Ryan sat up in bed and surveyed his bedroom. His sneakers were nowhere to be seen, and given his OCD if he couldn't spot them from the bed, they weren't in his small, yet immaculate bedroom. Some people dealt with stress by letting stuff go. First their living space would become chaos, then their appearance dowdy, followed by the inevitable decline of their personal relationships. This was not Ryan's M.O. He might have royally messed up his personal relationships, but his apartment was spotless and his record collection alphabetized. He'd even been running every morning since the second week after he'd been terminated. His home and his ass looked better than ever. Before, heavy case loads, long nights and lack of time had meant he'd had to relax his usually uptight standards of cleanliness and physical conditioning. Unemployment, and the free wheeling lack of control that came with it, had ramped up Ryan's compulsive tendencies. He might not be able to get his job, girlfriend or parent's respect back, but he could organize and exercise. And he'd been doing both with a gusto.

Ryan rolled out of bed and walked into his living room. He could remember taking his sneakers off last night by the couch, but they were not there now. He thought back then sighed, and went to the closet by his front door. Inside he found his sneakers, along with every other pair of shoes he owned, lined up by color and use. All of the shoes looked as if they had been cleaned recently, and thoroughly. He had cleaned and arranged them all the night before while talking to Rachel on the phone. One minute he'd been arguing with her about holiday plans, the next he was holding a dirty cloth and all his shoes where looking suspiciously clean. He removed his runners from the line up, shut the closet door behind him, and took three deep breaths remembering that his OCD was only as strong as he let it be. There would always be times he fell down, especially during stressful periods in his life.

Ryan dropped his sneakers in the middle of the living room floor, a small act of defiance against his condition and walked back into his bedroom. Once there he changed into his running clothes before returning to the living room. Ryan kicked his running shoes to one side and sat down on the floor Indian style. He stretched out his legs, and then sat up on his knees. After one deep breath, and a brief snicker at what his buddies from college would think if they could see him now, Ryan moved into one of the yoga stances Valera had taught him.

He'd never planned to learn yoga. In fact, he had taken great pleasure in mocking anyone who did yoga loudly, and at length. It was during one of his many rants on the subject that Valera finally snapped and told him to put his money where his mouth was. If he'd never done yoga, he couldn't mock yoga, end of story. She'd offered to teach him some basic poses which she claimed would change his mind on the subject forever. Ryan's initial reaction was a scoff, but he reconsidered when he remembered how nice the view from his treadmill at the gym was when the women only yoga class was in session. He'd agreed to let Valera try and teach him some moves. It would mean he could get back to openly proclaiming his dislike of shiny, happy people behavior, and he'd get to watch Valera arch her back.

He'd been a reluctant student to say the least, even if he loved the sight of Valera in her yoga pants, and the first ten minutes had been nothing but wise cracks. Since being Ryan's girlfriend meant taking sarcasm in stride, Valera had simply done her best to ignore him as she began her routine. He had rolled his eyes and half-heartedly attempted to follow her lead. At first he'd felt like an uncoordinated dunce, then, as he concentrated on watching Valera so he could get it right he'd just felt horny. She kept sticking her ass in his face while breathing heavily, and though he knew that was all part of the lesson, it was one hell of a turn on. The lesson had ended with them having sex on her dining room floor, and Ryan being no further ahead in the practice of yoga.

But Valera had not let that one lesson end as a one off. She'd needled him for days afterwards about how he wasn't actually against yoga, he was anti-anything he wasn't immediately good at or suspected he might look foolish doing. Ryan had taken that as a challenge. Just because something might make him look less than cool didn't mean he wouldn't do it, and do it well. Hell, he'd been on the Math team in high school and played in the brass section of the marching band. If anything, he didn't need anymore hobbies that were guaranteed not to slay the ladies. But Valera had ensured him that she, and many other ladies found men who practiced yoga a turn on. This didn't spell the end of his skepticism, but it did make him agree to try.

Now he could move lithely and efficiently through the basic routine Valera had taught him. And while he would never admit it out loud, especially in Eric's presence, yoga did make him feel better. It allowed him to stop thinking and focus. He'd never lacked focus given the compulsions that plagued him, but yoga allowed him to concentrate in a less obsessive manner. And he appreciated the immediate relaxing effect it had on his tired nerves. The only downside to yoga was how much it reminded him of Valera and her absence. But this was a small price to pay for a shield against his personal demons.

Ryan finished his routine, stuck his feet in his runners and went in search of his MP3 player. He discovered it tangled amongst his bed sheets where it had been abandoned the night before. These days sleep did not come easy, and music was the only thing that relaxed him enough to drift off. Ryan stuck the two little buds in his ears and clipped the player to his waistband. He searched the play lists he had created until a suitable one appeared and then he left his apartment. After jogging down three flights of stairs Ryan left his building, and hit the pavement running. He had slacked off on his fitness over the last year, and it had shown when he first began running again. But, he knew enough about biology to know that the body remembers fitness. Once the initial shock of activity after slothfulness had been shook off he'd slipped into a routine he hadn't managed since working at Patrol.

Once he made it to the end of the street he resided on he decided to head towards the beach. There were some great running paths along the boardwalks that Calleigh had shown him when he'd first arrived at the crime lab. When he'd been in the Academy he and the other recruits had used the university gym, and once he was in Patrol a few of them had continued to work out there as a group. When he'd turned in his uniform to be a criminalist he had lost his gym privileges, along with most of his free time. He'd complained about this so much at the break room table during his first month that Calleigh had offered to take him running with her. Ryan had accepted with a little trepidation, he was unsure how Calleigh felt about him given his first case had been one that involved her father. But his fears had been for nothing, as Calleigh had been genuine in her offer and enjoyable to run with. In fact he liked her company so much he had felt it was a shame their schedules prevented them from running together with any regularity after that first day.

Ten minutes later when Ryan reached the board walk his thoughts inevitably returned to Calleigh again, and as the old adage says, "Speak of the devil…". Ryan looked into the distance and saw a petite woman running his way. The high blonde ponytail and the determined stride were a dead giveaway as to the runner's identity. Ryan faltered momentarily. Should he continue on his path which would bring him face to face with Calleigh, or turn around and run the other way while hoping she was not as familiar with his ass from a distance as he was with hers? He missed the team, he missed the lab and he missed Calleigh. He just wasn't sure he could handle small talk right now. He also suspected Calleigh would veer any conversation they shared towards big talk, and the prospect of this scared him shitless.

He was glad his former teammates were no longer treating him like a leper, but he still wasn't entirely comfortable with being around them. He had The Program to thank for that. Despite his promise to Valera that he'd get help, Ryan had assumed he could quit gambling cold turkey and all would be forgotten. He'd also figured he'd change as a person, turn over a new leaf and never fall down again. But then money had gotten tight, he was running out of options and he'd agreed to testify against Natalia's evidence. Gambling on the job had caused them to distrust him as a cop, messing with Natalia had made them question him as a friend. If Natalia had implied he didn't deserve his job back he might have been able to withstand her ire. But she'd simply looked at him, much the same as Valera had on their last night together, and said, "Some friend you are". He couldn't take it, and the next day he'd called the Gambler's Anonymous hotline he'd found in the phone book.

Ryan didn't regret joining the support group, and he was more than thankful to the man who'd been assigned as his sponsor. But, he also hadn't realized how involved the whole thing would be. Meetings were alright, changing his own personal actions and cognitive behavior was cool too, but facing his friends and family about the suffering his gambling may have caused them was terrifying. The fear of such confessions is what had kept him from seeking help for so long. Facing Calleigh, Eric, Natalia and Horatio would imply that they were more than just colleagues to him, and Ryan had never been sure they saw him in the same light. Valera he knew cared about him above and beyond the bonds of shared duty. The others he was not so sure about, and as such he wasn't keen to drag them into his personal drama.

Ironically, Calleigh had been the first one he had reached out to. His sponsor Mark had suggested it after they'd discussed his co-workers and Ryan's reluctance to involve them in his recovery. Mark reasoned that from what Ryan had related about Calleigh's father she might actually have more understanding than most about addiction. So Ryan had called her, and explained that he was seeking help for his problem and asked her to meet with him for coffee. She'd agreed to his offer, and during their discussion she'd displayed more compassion than he could have imagined her capable of. Afterwards she had offered to arrange for him to sit down with Eric and Natalia and try and work things out.

He learned that day that there was a Cop Calleigh and a Civilian Calleigh. Civilian Calleigh was endearing, forgiving and a fiercely loyal friend.

It was Civilian Calleigh who was now only fifty feet away from him and waving both her arms in greeting. "Ryan? Ryan is that you?" She was hollering in the way only Southern people can.

He was wearing headphones, and The Beastie Boys were fighting for their right to party on his MP3 player, but he'd have to be blind and deaf to miss her. He stopped running, pulled the little buds from his ears and gave Calleigh a tentative wave back.

"Yeah it's me!" he yelled back.

A smile broke over her face. "I thought so! Are you starting or finishing your run?" The distance between them was still wide enough to warrant raised voices.

"Starting!" he called back.

"Darn! I'm on the home stretch!"

Even from a distance Ryan could see her pout and it warmed him. "Come here Cal! I'll go you're way, I've got the time!"

She only caught the last few words. "What?"

Ryan cupped his hands around his mouth. "I said-

Calleigh rolled her eyes. What were they doing? At any point in the last few minutes one of them could have closed the distance between them, instead they were clearly having a mad scientist moment. As Ryan continued to yell his garbled reply at her Calleigh broke into a run and headed towards him. His hands were still cupped around his mouth, and his sentence was unfinished when she made it to where he was standing and threw her arms around him. Ryan nearly lost his footing from the force of her embrace.

She pulled away and looked up at him. "I haven't seen you in soooo long!"

"Hey Cal," he allowed her to hug him quickly one more time. "I miss you too."

"Really?" She arched one of her perfect eyebrows at him. "You've got a funny way of showing it. You don't return very many social calls."

He stared at the sand and took a deep breath. "Yeah, I know, I'm sorry. It's just still weird you know?"

"I guess." She kicked at the sand in front of her and tried to get him to meet her eyes. "But you know the only way to move forward is to reject being stagnant."

Ryan resisted the urge to roll his eyes. "You've got the recovery lingo down pat Cal."

"Yeah, well." It was her turn to look at the sand now. "Being an Al-anon member since you were fifteen will do that to a person."

Ryan immediately regretted his words. He'd momentarily forgotten about her father and what he'd put her through. "I'm sorry Calleigh. I didn't mean to make light of your situation or anything."

She smiled up at him. "I know. Don't worry about it. In fact, let's get moving if we're going to."

"Yeah, okay." It amazed him how fast her walls could go up. "But you know Cal anytime you wanna talk about that stuff I'm here. It's the least I can do."

She gave him her sweetest smile, the one that lit up her face and everything around her, but she didn't acknowledge his offer. Instead she began to jog at a light pace leaving him to stare after her. She was The Sphinx again, guarding her secrets.

"Come on slow poke!" she called back at him, turning around to jog backwards.

Ryan shrugged and took off after her. For the first ten minutes neither of them spoke. They just concentrated on establishing a pace and rhythm that worked. Once they cleared the beach and had started towards Calleigh's neighborhood she broke the silence.

"So how's work?" Her words came out in puffs as she ran.

"Don't call it work." His reply was equally labored.

"Whatever it takes Ryan." She paused for several seconds to get more air. "Whatever pays the bills."

"It doesn't."

"It's temporary."

"It better be." He smiled at her to ensure the following statement was taken too seriously. "Or else you and Delko will be working my suicide scene."

"That's not funny." Her tone was flat and scolding.

"Sorry. Morbid sense of humor. Like Lenny Bruce."

She glanced up at him. "Who?"

"Lenny Bruce." Ryan puffed out. "You must know about him."

"Nope. Don't think so."

"Comedian. Jewish. Big in the fifties and early sixties. Got arrested all the time." Ryan was aware of how little justice his description, while perfectly accurate, did the man in question.

The look on Calleigh's face told him he hadn't yet triggered any awareness on her part. So he tried again. "He was arrested for obscenity. Was a landmark case for free speech. Dustin Hoffman played him in '74."

"Oh wait." Something floated up from Calleigh's memory. "Didn't Woody Allen have something do to with it?"

Ryan laughed. "Sort of. Allen and lots of others supported him through the trials. Paul Newman, Liz Taylor, Gore Vidal."

"Wow, someone's got a crush."

Ryan shoved her a little. "He was an American icon. Like Kerouac. A trailblazer."

"I believe you."

"He lived here in Miami for awhile." Ryan wasn't sure why he was giving Calleigh a history lesson on one of his personal heroes, but it was fun nevertheless.

"And he had a morbid sense of humor?" Calleigh asked.

"No more than anyone else. He just admitted to it." Ryan took a few more deep breaths before continuing. "That was his genius. Lenny never held back. He said what we thought, but won't say. They called him sick."

Calleigh smirked. "Well. Not hard to see why you relate."

"I take that as a compliment."

That seemed to be all that was needed to be said, and they abandoned conversation after Ryan had the final word. Thirty minutes later they came to a halt in front of Calleigh's home, a two-story colonial.

"Do you want some water before you go on your way?" Calleigh asked.

Ryan considered the offer. "Yeah actually, and I should probably use the bathroom if you don't mind. I've got a trek ahead of me. I mean technically as a man the world is my toilet, but this is nice neighborhood and I wouldn't want to scare any soccer moms getting the kids off to gymboree."

Calleigh just laughed. "And that is another example of your warped humor. How the heck do you know what gymboree is?"

Ryan made a face of mock indignation. "What? I know people with kids. Also I, like everyone at MDPD, have been trapped into listening to Julie from Booking discuss her children in great detail."

Calleigh shook her head and led the way inside her house. "Well come on in before you go in my rose bushes."

When Ryan returned from the bathroom Calleigh was waiting for him in the kitchen with two large glasses of water. She handed him one while taking a long drag from the other.

"Thanks Cal." He clinked his glass against hers. "It was really good to see you."

"Same here." She took another sip and wondered how to broach the subject she'd most wanted to discuss before he started regaling her with the legend of Lenny Bruce. "Speaking of seeing, have you contacted Maxine recently?"

The way his face fell told her she had not been as smooth as she hoped.

"It couldn't be just a run hey Cal?" He was staring into the glass of water like it was going to reveal the secrets of the universe.

"I'm sorry." She busied herself with rinsing out her glass. "I'm not trying to push you Ryan, but think about how she must feel. She has to know you've made an effort with the rest of us."

"She's not the rest of you." Ryan answered flatly.

"I know."

He dragged his gaze from the glass to meet Calleigh's eyes. "I haven't spoken with my parents about anything either."

Calleigh searched his face. "In what sense?"

"They don't know anything. Well, they know I was fired. They don't know about the gambling, or um, the program." Ryan glanced at the clock. It was going for seven am. She had work in an hour, and he was expected at the gun range at nine. Now was not the time for heavy conversation, but he couldn't stop himself.

"I see."

"I know I have to talk to them. And Maxine. But it's harder than with you guys. Not because you aren't important." He was running out of words. "It's just different."

"Ryan." She started and stopped. She had to weigh her words carefully. "I learned a long time ago you can't help people who don't want to help themselves. I think you've made great strides, and no one expects you to do it all in one day, or even one week. That said, I think you need to seriously consider having a talk with Maxine and letting your parents in on the truth."

"Is that it?"

She wasn't sure if he wanted that to be all or if he was searching for more guidance. "Yes that's all. I can't do more than encourage you Ryan. You're the one who has to take responsibility for you recovery. If you don't there's nothing anyone else can do."

"I know, I know." He glanced again at the clock. "Listen Cal I should go. You've got to get ready for work and I've got a forty minute run ahead of me back to my apartment."

"I could drop you of at your place if you're willing to wait for me to get ready." Calleigh felt it was the least she could do after grilling him about Maxine.

"No, no." He made his way to her door. "I'll use the time to think about what you said."

"Ryan." She grabbed his arm. "Stay in touch okay?"

"I will." He said reaching for her door. The look on her face caused him to pause. "Cal, I promise, I will."

She smiled at him again. "Okay." But as she watched him jog out of sight she couldn't help feeling like he was running away.

_Hope you enjoyed…TBC, but I apologize ahead of time if it takes time in between postings, I like Ryan am under-employed at the moment and am working a shift job, but trying to hustle into something better, so that means lots of time away from the computer and out volunteering and shaking hands and going to super demoralizing interviews conducted by guys I hated on in uni. Never grow up kids, it sucks. _


	2. Chapter 2

**Disclaimer:** I own nothing related to CSI: Miami. If I did I wouldn't work in a shirt with my name tag on it.

This chapter's dedicated to The Swaggering Cripple, for the encouragement. It's probably not as long, well thought out, or proof read as it should be. But it's done. That's nine tenths the battle.

Chapter 2: The Israelite

_Get up in the morning, slaving for bread, sir,  
so that every mouth can be fed.  
Poor me, the Israelite.  
_

_Get up in the morning, slaving for bread, sir,  
So that every mouth can be fed.  
Poor me, the Israelite._

Ryan made it home just before eight which meant two things; he'd successfully killed off his morning, and he was due at the gun range in a little over an hour. While he was glad to have survived the morning without ruminating on his failings too much, the thought of work sickened him. He was loath to even term the gun range work. He was used to work meaning he got a chance to use his brain while contributing to society. When he'd first joined the Police Academy his family and friends had been both surprised and concerned. They worried for his safety and his graduate work. His parents had been sure their only son would be killed by a deranged criminal. His sister had wondered how her asthmatic, bookish, formerly small for his age brother was going to become a cop. Hadn't she always been the one responsible for bloodying the nose of neighborhood bullies? His friends, most of whom were either classmates or musicians, had questioned why he couldn't just get a McJob on the side like every other struggling grad student.

Ryan had anticipated such a response to his actions and had tried to explain himself as best as he could to those who questioned his life plans. He was coming to the end of his graduate program, and the only thing left to do was write up his thesis. It was time to think about the future and he knew a PhD was not in the cards. Not because he couldn't hack it, but because he couldn't afford it. Plus, he wanted to spend some time out of school before he made the decision to commit to such a scholarly path. He was considering careers, and being a criminalist was already factoring into his plans. Going into the police force would give him some practical experience in law enforcement, while providing him with a pay check. So he made the decision to go part time with his studies and tried out for the Academy. To everyone's surprise, including his own he made it in on the first go and hadn't looked back since.

Ryan knew that his high school peers probably would not have voted him "Most likely to become a cop". In fact, he fully acknowledged they probably thought he was living the quiet life somewhere, teaching Chemistry or Math to a bunch middle schoolers that mocked him mercilessly. But he'd found his niche in crime scene investigation. It allowed him to solve puzzles and utilize his skills as a scientist while serving the community. And, deep down inside being a cop appealed to the nerdy kid inside him who used to hide under the bed covers with Spiderman comics. He was never going to be bitten by a radioactive spider, but he could sympathize with Peter Parker. It gave Ryan hope that chemistry geek could become a super hero. The insecure teenager inside him often wished his former classmates could see him in action, badge and gun flashing. Ryan sighed and wondered if anyone, school mates or otherwise would ever see him in action again.

He was startled from his thoughts by the sound of an alarm going off. Ryan glanced around for the source of the noise and then ran into his bedroom. He'd forgotten to turn off his bedside alarm clock in his rush to get out of the apartment. Now he really needed to get ready for work. He peeled off his sweaty gym clothes and padded naked to the bathroom. A quick look in the mirror revealed his morning scruff to be tolerable so he skipped shaving to expedite matters. Fifteen minutes later he was dressed and ready to go but, also completely famished. Ryan checked his watch. He still had about thirty minutes before he had to clock in. Cooking was not an option, but he could think of something even better. He grabbed his keys and wallet and ran to his car anticipating his next stop. Getting fired had not removed all pleasures from his life, and he was about to indulge in one of the greatest he knew.

Ten minutes later Ryan pulled into the parking lot in front of a small building that was unique from its surroundings due to its size (small) and its décor (blue and white stripes ran up and down the building). Bennett's Bakery had been established by Arnold "Arnie" Bennett in the sixties and had been serving excellent Jewish baked goods to the Chosen and the Gentile ever since. Ryan was addicted to the rugelach and Bennett's was the only place he could get decent bagels south of the Mason-Dixon. In recent times Arnie's younger staff had talked him into serving coffee as well, and Ryan planned to take full advantage of this.

Tiny bells attached to the door announced his arrival and Ryan paused to take in the delights in front of him. In order to fully appreciate Bennett's one had to employ their eyes, and nose. Ryan inhaled the smells left behind by the staff's early morning baking and walked towards the gleaming counter which housed all of Bennett's signature treats. Bagels and muffins shared space with mandelbread and cookies. Display cakes sat on shelves behind the counter beneath a sign that encouraged customers to trust all their celebratory baking needs to Bennett's. The cakes were one of two permanent fixtures behind Bennett's counter. The other was Shemesh Lowenstein, a local that Ryan figured was probably somewhere around his own age, and weighed a hundred and twenty pounds soaking wet. Ryan also suspected Shem was a bit of a hippy. If his sense of dress didn't give him away the strong smell of weed that constantly radiated from his person definitely did.

Shem offered Ryan the same huge smile he gave all customers, but followed it with a very personal greeting. "Hey man! Long time no see."

Ryan couldn't help but smile back. Shem was an infectiously happy person, and despite the fact they'd never seen one another outside the bakery he assumed an implicit friendship existed between himself and Ryan.

"Hey Josh! Come see who it is!" Shem yelled through the window that separated the baking area from the front counter.

The sound of pots and pans banging was followed by some muffled cursing. "What? I swear to God Shem if this isn't your dealer I'm gonna be pissed."

Seconds later Joshua Goldberg trundled up to the window to peer through at Shem and whoever he was excited about. Josh did most of the baking at Bennett's and it showed on his waistline. Arnie referred to his two employees as The Odd Couple because they spent every waking moment together but were so mismatched in size and disposition.

Shem smiled even bigger at Josh's declaration and rolled his eyes. "No man, it's not Marty, it's Ryan. Psssth my dealer! Dude, Ryan's a cop. Duh!"

Josh simply took a deep breath and tried to hide the frustration in his voice. "Which is probably why we shouldn't mention dealers or their names in front of him. And you could maybe be a little more subtle around the police officer. Not to mention giving me fair warning."

"Oh no man it's cool. Ryan's cool. Aren't you Ryan?" Shem was smiling beatifically at him again.

Ryan shook his head and tried not to laugh at the pair in front of him. "Yeah Shem it's cool."

"Plus, you're not a _cop_, cop anyways right?" Shem asked.

Josh and Ryan both stared at the man as if trying to discern just what a _cop,_ cop was.

"Well," Josh started slowly. "He's either a cop or not a cop Shem. There really isn't two ways about it."

"No, no man. He's a scientist and a cop. I remember we discussed it one day." Shem looked proud of himself for retaining the details. He turned to face Ryan. "You're like a copologist right?"

Ryan couldn't help laughing at Shem's choice of words. Copologist, he'd have to remember that the next time someone asked him what he did for a living. That is, if he ever got his job back. His laughter was short lived.

"Yeah, sort of," Ryan replied. He wondered later why he had let the next sentence tumble out of his mouth. "But I don't exactly do that anymore."

Shem's face went from surprised to quizzical in seconds. "No? Why not? I mean, what do you do now?"

Josh's concerns were more practical, and he was thinking of the gram of marijuana he had stashed in the back, in what could be construed as plain sight by the justices system. "So you're not a cop then?" he asked.

Ryan figured it was either the program, or his talk with Calleigh earlier that was motivating him to tell the truth, to what amounted to strangers but it felt like the right thing to do so he continued. "Yeah, um, I'm sort of on suspension from work, uh, the force."

Shem's eyes became the size of saucers. "No way! How can that be?"

Ryan wondered how to explain the situation in one sentence. "Well, I did something I shouldn't have in the line of duty, and it jeopardized a lot of good work that had been done not just be me, but my colleagues too."

Shem was too stunned to speak. He really hated when bad things happened to good people, and he was sure Ryan was good people. Of course, Shem operated on the principle that all people were good people until proven otherwise so he was generally flabbergasted by anything that disrupted his world view.

Josh on the other hand made an art of being cynical and prided himself on the fact nothing surprised him anymore. "So what, did you beat up a black guy?" he asked.

"What? No! Why would I beat up a black guy?" Ryan cried.

"Accepted a bribe? Got caught with a hooker? Oh no wait, killed a hooker and then bribed someone to cover it up." Josh was joking, for the most part.

"Josh, that's enough! Ryan did not kill a hooker! Tell him you didn't kill a hooker Ryan!" It was getting to be too much for Shem. He did not wake and bake on the days he had to work and this whole business was really stressing him out.

Ryan pinched the bridge of his nose. To be honest this conversation was starting to get to him too. "I did not kill a hooker Shem." He looked Josh in the face. "Or take a bribe, or beat up a minority. I just messed up is all, and now I am no longer a cop, though I hope to be a cop again in the future. Now can I please get a bagel and a coffee?"

"Huh?" Shem was momentarily thrown off by the change of subject. Josh too appeared at a loss.

"Coffee? Bagel?" Ryan made pantomime actions with his hands to indicate his desires. "You know those things you sell, in this bakery?"

"Oh, yeah, right. Coming right up!" Shem sprang into action. He quickly poured Ryan a coffee and made for the bagels. "Um, what kind man? And toasted or not? Cream cheese? Lox?"

"Regular. Toasted with cream cheese," Ryan replied. "And make it two, I'm starving."

Shem threw two bagels in the toaster and handed Ryan his coffee. "Yeah I was going to say before the whole, uh, thing, you look like you've lost weight. You're eating right? I mean you're not all depressed over this work thing right man?"

Ryan raised an eyebrow. "Who are you, my Bubbie?" He knew he was a regular but this was ridiculous.

Shem laughed as he bagged Ryan's bagels. "No man, just a concerned citizen. We all need to look out for each other right?"

Ryan thought it might be the light headedness from the hunger, but he found Shem's statement touching. The world needed more genuinely nice people. He offered Shem a smile as he paid for his breakfast. "Yeah, yeah man we do."

Shem returned Ryan's smile with one of his own and ventured another question now that things seemed copasetic again. "So, um, if you don't mind me asking, what are you doing now man? I mean are they paying you or what while you're on this suspension thing?"

Ordinarily Ryan would have avoided this line of questioning like the plague, but he knew Shem's curiosity was borne out of concern not malice. "Well, uh, no they aren't paying me, so I'm doing what I can to get by. I'm working at a gun range. The pay's pretty bad, and the rest of the staff are kind of NRA, redneck types, but it's just for now."

For Shem nothing in the world could be worse than working with NRA, redneck types. The very mention of the NRA sent chills down his spine. He had the same reaction to the words fiscally conservative, fundamentalism and unilateral preemptive strike. The evening news often scared him more than any of the many slasher films he and Josh had watched while stoned out of their gourds. As far as Shem was concerned Dick Cheney and Karl Rove gave Jason and Freddy a run for their money.

He gave Ryan a sympathetic look and slipped some cookies in beside the bagels. "Here, these are on the house on a count of having to work in the presence of such evil."

"Thanks Shem," Ryan said, taking the bag. "But it's honestly not that bad. I mean, I don't hear any disembodied voices ordering me to get out, and no one's head has spun around on their shoulders yet."

Josh laughed at the movie references and joined Shem at the cash register. "Yeah, plus, it's okay, he still has that hot ass girlfriend. Right man?"

Ryan nearly dropped the bagels. "What?"

Josh didn't notice anything amiss. "You're girlfriend. The hot one. Sometimes she's a brunette, sometimes she's blonde. I may not remember your regular order like this guy here," he paused to point a thumb at Shem. "But, I remember your girl. You're a lucky man my friend, job or no job."

Ryan swallowed hard and tried to regain his composure. "We're not, um she's not. I mean I don't have a hot girlfriend. She's still hot, we're just not together."

Josh felt like sticking his head in the oven out back. "Man, I'm sorry. I didn't know. Jeez we must really be making your morning."

Shem was devastated all over again. "But what happened? She loved that cake Josh made and she was always cool when she came here with you."

When Ryan and Valera had first been circling each other in a flirtatious manner she'd celebrated a birthday. They weren't together yet, but they knew, as did everyone around them, that it was only a matter of time. Valera had decided to throw herself a party so that she'd have a legitimate reason to invite Ryan over to her place without seeming obvious. Ryan had accepted the invite to her party with great expectations and some trepidation. He would need to get her gift. What do you buy for a girl you aren't with but are pretty sure you're going to be?

In the end he'd decided to get her a birthday cake from Bennett's, made to order with all the bells and whistles. Josh had done his magic and when Ryan arrived at Valera's door he was carrying a cake fit for a princess. It was the kind of culinary wonder that made people want to take its picture before they ate it. After the party, no less than six people had posted a picture of themselves posing with the cake to their Facebook profile.

"Yeah, she did really like the cake, and she was, she is really cool," Ryan said in agreement.

Whatever had transpired since did not sully the memory of that night for him. Valera had been truly charmed by his gift, and after everyone else had gone home with a piece of cake, they'd fooled around for the first time. It hurt that they weren't still together, but he understood that it was his fault. He was no longer angry at Valera, or the situation, just at himself. And the self directed anger was only momentary, it had to be. Anger was useless, as Mark had told him many times before. He had to focus on the future and make amends for the past.

While Ryan was doing his best to be Zen on the inside Shem was still coming to terms with the day's revelations. It wasn't even nine yet and he was bummed. But Shem found being bummed as useless as Ryan found anger, so he resolved to change his perspective and his friend's circumstances. No need to fight and fuss.

"You know what we need to do? We need to help you get your lady back." Shem was wearing his resolved face. It was a face Josh usually only saw when his friend was weighing or rolling pot. So clearly he meant business.

"Um, what now?" Ryan was utterly confused.

"Yeah, I mean what are we gonna do to change this situation?" Josh asked. "When was the last time either of us talked to a lady?"

"We helped bring them together!" Shem reasoned.

"Oh yeah, I bet the fact he looks like the Jewish Tom Cruise had nothing to do with it at all." Josh argued. He turned to face Ryan. "The first time he came in here I thought Jake Gyllenhaal was gracing us with his presence."

Ryan's eyebrows were now in his hairline. "Thanks? I think?"

"I'm just saying, I could've built that cake out of chocolate, vibrators, a pair of Manolos and icing guaranteed to make you skinny and I couldn't have pulled that kind of tail with it."

Both Ryan and Shem were momentarily delayed by the mental images conjured up by Josh's words.

Ryan, having the lesser imagination of the two, due to lack of hallucinogens in his life, recovered first. "Again, thanks?"

"Never mind the vibrating cakes." Shem was back on the task at hand. "You really loved her man, and she really loved you."

Ryan and Josh were instantly sobered. Such statements where painfully powerful under most circumstances, they were undeniable from someone as honest and earnest as Shem. It was like when small children utter profound truths in a seemingly unwitting manner.

"Yeah," Ryan could think of nothing else to follow Shem's outburst.

"So, so we'll help you get her back. That's what friends are for!" Shem's sunny outlook on life could only be suppressed for so long.

Ryan's mouth was open and moving before he even realized it. "But you're not-

One sharp look from Josh, that held all the loyalty and protectiveness he felt for Shem contained within it, stalled Ryan's tongue before he could speak the two words they both knew were coming; my friend.

"-responsible for fixing my love life." Ryan hoped his quick tongue, and Josh's perceptiveness had saved the day.

"Not to worry my man." Shem was oblivious to the near disaster. "You can count on us."

Ryan did not want to hurt Shem's feelings. But, he also did not want a near stranger messing around with the situation he was in with Valera. Plus, Ryan could tell from the look on Josh's face he didn't think it was any of his or Shem's business. Or, more likely, Josh felt that Ryan didn't deserve Shem's concern. Truth be told, Ryan agreed with him.

Still there was no harm in placating Shem. "Sure, okay Mr. Lowenstein. You do that. But I've got to be getting to work." Ryan offered Shem his hand. "Mr. Goldberg." He did the same to Josh.

"Mr. Gyllenhaal, I mean Wolfe." Josh shook the proffered hand with a joking grin.

"Whatever." Ryan rolled his eyes and turned to leave.

"Don't fuck any gay cowboys at the gun range. The NRA isn't cool with that!" Josh called.

Ryan simply offered him the one fingered salute as a response.

Josh had the final word as the door swung shut. "I mean it, you'll lose your job on the mountain, cause they don't hire your kind!"

Shem looked wistfully at the door. "That was a sad movie man. I mean, why couldn't the world just let them be in love?"

xxXxx

As Ryan left the bakery he was momentarily worried about Shem, and his devotion to the cause. He quickly dismissed the need to give it any second thought. After all, how much damage could Shem do? He didn't know Valera, he barely knew Ryan. Shem didn't know where he lived or what his phone number was. He was strictly limited to the few moments he and Ryan spent conversing over the exchange of money for baked goods. Sure, sometimes that exchange took a few minutes and sometimes it took the better part of a half hour, but Shem couldn't find Ryan in his everyday life. He had nothing to fret about, nothing that is, except for making it to work on time. Ryan let out what felt like the millionth sigh of the morning and started his car. He reached for his MP3 player, which was hooked up to his car radio and scrolled through to the song he played every morning on the ride to work.

_Get up in the morning, slaving for bread, sir,  
so that every mouth can be fed.  
Poor me, the Israelite._

_Get up in the morning, slaving for bread, sir,  
so that every mouth can be fed.  
Poor me, the Israelite._

_My wife and my kids, they are packed up and leave me.  
Darling, she said, I was yours to be seen.  
Poor me, the Israelite._

Valera wasn't his wife, and they didn't have kids, but that didn't make the words ring any less true.

_Shirt them a-tear up, trousers are gone.  
I don't want to end up like Bonnie and Clyde.  
Poor me, the Israelite._

_After a storm there must be a calm.  
They catch me in the farm. You sound the alarm.  
Poor me, the Israelite._

Ryan played the song on repeat until he was pulled into the gun range parking lot. Then he turned it up in the hopes that it would repel whatever Toby Keith vibes were floating about the perimeter.

_Poor me, the Israelite.  
I wonder who I'm working for.  
Poor me, Israelite,  
I look a-down and out, sir._

Ryan sang along at the top of his lungs with Desmond and the Dekkers for one final refrain before turning off his car. Like the yoga he had done earlier it was probably an act that would embarrass him if Eric, or any other man, was present to witness it. But it did wonders for his mental health then and there. Especially as he watched a pick up truck full of the morning's first yahoos pull up to the range.

Ryan was only halfway across the parking lot when they emptied out of the truck. He felt like it was grade ten again and he was desperately trying to make it into the school before the football team could catch him alone. At least he wasn't carrying a giant, brass saxophone these days, it made it hard for bullies to miss you on their nerd radar. Apparently so did his mandatory uniform.

"Nice shorts Slim!" The call came from one of the club regulars. "Did your mom pick that out?"

Ryan gritted his teeth. He knew it was nothing personal, in fact it was so impersonal as to be callous. He wasn't Ryan Wolfe, nerd or otherwise to this man. He was simply a non-person in a uniform. He was a job, and his job commanded no respect, in fact it demanded he effectively cater to this man's needs. Ryan knew it wasn't him being insulted, but what he was dressed as. This fact didn't make the experience any less aggravating.

"Hey fellas!" The man was not finished. "Who wears short shorts? Slim does! The fags must love you on South Beach boy!"

He bit back the urge to inform them that he was wearing the uniform that was issued to him, that all employees were forced to wear. His mom didn't choose it, he didn't choose it, and judging by the number of people milling about who were employed by the range wearing it, any observation to the contrary was asinine.

Ryan also pondered the moniker that had been placed on him. Slim? What the fuck was that? Was he slim? Relatively speaking yes, and certainly nowadays more prominently so, but he wasn't skinny by any means. Of course, next to the man who had given him the name Ryan looked like Gumby, but then so would Jabba the Hutt.

And the fag bit? Why was it always the fag bit? Couldn't these guys come up with something more original? Ryan wondered if actually gay men spent their entire lives being exasperated over this tired insult. Where they going to shake him down for his lunch money as well, you know just to add to the unoriginal nature of their attack?

Ryan cricked his neck, thought of his pay check and forced a smile. "Good one Mr. Richards. See you inside."

Mr. Richards' reply was to continue guffawing along with his pals. Ryan watched the display and had two thoughts. The first was, _More Chins then there are in a Chinese phone book_. The second was; _I will never look at another pack of playing cards again for as long as I live_.

_Get up in the morning, slaving for bread, sir,  
so that every mouth can be fed.  
Poor me, the Israelite._

It was going to be a long day.

_TBC....In which Lenny himself makes an appearance..._


	3. Chapter 3

**Disclaimer**: Dear potential litigators, I don't own CSI: Miami or anything related to it and I have nothing. And half of nothing is nothing squared so good luck bleeding me shysters.

Author's Note: Chapter title and lyrics come from the Sam Robert's song of the same name. For any American or International readers I highly recommend buying Mr. Roberts' albums and listening to them while camping and drinking. But remember always leave the woods as you found it, and no matter how drunk you get be polite, it's the Canadian way.

Chapter 3: Hard Road

_Got lost on the way, but you found the road again  
Stay true to your friends, cause they'll save you in the end_

_There must be something in the air, in the air  
Some kind of answer to my prayers, to my prayers  
Some kind of answer to my prayers  
Been dying since the day I was born  
'Cause there's no road that ain't a hard road to travel on_

_I have a vision in my mind of a life that I've left behind  
Yeah, can't you see that lost souls can't swim  
You know you'll sink, but you still jump in  
And it's alright to get caught stealing back what you've lost  
Yeah, don't you know that lost souls can't swim  
You beat them back, but they drag you in  
And I can't say that I am sorry for all my many sins_

By two o' clock Ryan was ready to tear his hair out with impatience. He wanted the work day over, now. When he'd been a CSI time had seemed to fly. The rush to catch a killer kept him on his toes. Days became nights in the blink of an eye and a single shift bled into a double seamlessly. At the gun range it felt like he was stuck in a slow moving vortex. Every time he checked the clock it felt as if an hour had passed, but in reality it was only fifteen minutes after the last time he'd looked.

Ryan stared at the digital display on the wall, willing it to move faster. "Please," he murmured. "Please, I will do anything, just hurry up."

"Talking to yerself's the first sign yer goin' crazy!"

Ryan startled and jumped away from the counter. He may or may not have yelped. He would like to believe he didn't. Ryan let out a long breath when he realized it was just his co-worker Darrel Henderson. His relief was short lived though as he knew Darrel would definitely give him a hard time for allegedly squealing like a girl. In Darrel's mind it was his duty to rib Ryan every chance he got, because Ryan was a Yankee.

"Shit son, you sure are tightly wound, even for a Yank." There was laughter, as well as a Georgian twang in Darrel's voice.

Ryan rubbed his eyes. "Bob Richardson and company are here today. I'm probably not the only one on edge."

"Ah, hell." Darrel knew he had some habits that might cause some people to term him a redneck, but even he couldn't stand Richardson.

"What are you complaining about?" Ryan asked. "They showed up first thing this morning. They'll be gone before your shift is half over."

Darrel tended to work the two till ten shift, while Ryan preferred the day rotation. Occasionally they would be placed on the others' shift, but they always wound up swapping, much to management's dismay. It worked out well for them both. Darrel was not a morning person, and Ryan was sure if he had to spend his evenings at the range he'd wind up splattering his brains all over one of the shooting stations.

"How's the day been so far?" Darrel asked.

"Meh. Stuff's clean and aside from Kool and the Gang no one's been in really."

"Stuff's always clean when yer on. Guess there's nothin' for me to do just at this moment. Sides from sit here. Mighty convenient that is." Darrel pulled up the only chair in the office and sat down.

They sat in silence for several moments, Darrel turning himself, and the chair, in circles while Ryan perched on the table and spun a pen around in his fingers. Daryl lowered his ever present cowboy hat over his eyes and mumbled something.

"What?" Ryan hadn't been able to make out the noises coming from under the hat.

"I said, wha'd you do last night? Anything fun?"

Ryan didn't think Darrel would find organizing one's shoe collection while talking to your sister on the phone fun. "Not really. Did you?"

"Of course I did. We're in Miami son, there's a party on every corner."

Ryan struggled with the pen for a moment as it threatened to spiral out of his grasp.

"Yeah, so, what did you do then?"

"The usual. Got laid out on Natty Ice and went lookin' for a time." Darrel punctuated his statement by leaning as far back as the chair would allow and resting his feet on the table.

Ryan made a face. "Natty Ice? Gross. That shit's rank man."

Darrel lifted the brim of his hat briefly to wink up at his co-worker. "That shit will get you drunk real quick, for real cheap, and that's all that matters."

"I guess." Ryan was now absent mindedly doodling on the sole of one of Darrel's sneakers.

"I guarantee you no matter what I drink I have a good time. You really oughta come out one of these nights man." Darrel had been offering since Ryan had first arrived at the range, but the offer had yet to be taken.

"I can't. How am I gonna work the morning shift so you can get drunk and come in late, if I get drunk and come in late?"

"Next time they put us both on afternoons we won't switch. Then we'll party. Easy as pie, as my Mama would say."

Ryan wondered if he should just say yes. It seemed easy enough. Darrel did it all the time. In fact, his daily life pretty much consisted of the range and partying. And while he'd never asked the other man his age Ryan didn't think Darrel was that much younger than him. Maybe he should just try living a frat boy existence for awhile. He'd done his fair share of partying in university, hell he'd even been in a band. Those days had been good times and easy times, with less stress and more laughter.

As if to illustrate how carefree his life was Darrel had begun to snore softly under the brim of his hat. Ryan looked at his co-worker and then took in the room around them. Was this the key to a happy life? A relatively hassle free job that, in Darrel's case, paid the bills, and you went home and forgot about it each night. Ryan took a deep breath and tried to picture himself in such an existence. But he couldn't see it. Not with what he knew. He knew he could amount to more than this. He knew life was more than this, and he couldn't feign ignorance to the contrary.

Of course Ryan knew that Darrel's situation in life was born more out of circumstance than ignorance. From what he'd gleaned from their conversations Darrel was one of six children who had been born into a family that teetered between working class and flat out poor most of his childhood. Having a job, any job, especially one that gave him regular hours, more than minimum wage pay and the chance to live in Miami was a deal for Darrel. He'd done worse jobs in the past to get by, ones that as he had told Ryan, "would make your hair curl", if he'd described them in great detail.

Ryan sighed and leaned his head against the wall. He let the pen he'd been playing with clatter to the floor. The noise seemed to rouse Darrel and he pushed back his hat to observe Ryan.

"Well, seems to me this one oughta match the other," he said reaching for the abandoned pen while poking his right shoe at Ryan. He retrieved the writing implement and made to toss it at his co-worker.

"Sorry about that," Ryan replied examining Darrel's left shoe for what seemed like the first time. "I guess I wasn't really paying attention. I can clean it off for you."

Darrel just smiled and rotated the graffitied sneaker around a few times. "Nah, it looks good. You can do the other one if you want. Nothin' else to be at."

Ryan accepted the pen as Darrel handed it back to him, but when he brought it down to the other sneaker he wasn't really sure what to do.

"I uh, wasn't really thinking about it last time. I kind of only do stuff like that when I'm spacing out. Any requests?"

"I don't know. How's about The Braves logo? Feel free to spaz out or whatever you need to do man, I'm not going anywhere."

Ryan did his best approximation of The Brave's giant A before replying. "I'd prefer not to. It'd mean thinking about stuff."

"What stuff?"

"The usual." Ryan had explained some of his recent troubles to Darrel. "You know, how to get my job back. All that junk."

Darrel watched as Ryan filled in the lopsided A. "That's yer problem son. You think way too much. If I've told you once, I've told you twice, this here place is just a stepping stone for the likes of you. You're not gonna be catering to the likes of Bill Richardson forever."

The fact that Darrel just might spend his life in such a position hung, unsaid, between them and Ryan wondered, as he had many times after complaining about the state of his life, if he was offending the other man on some level. After all, there didn't seem to be anything temporary about this job for Darrel. Ryan felt momentarily shamed and he concentrated on Darrel's shoe so he wouldn't have to look him in the face.

"I guess. It's just hard to see right now. I mean what I did, what got me fired, it wasn't small beans." Ryan replied.

"Okay, so maybe you don't get to be a cop no more. Smart guy like you can do plenty of other things."

"Yeah, I know, you're right. Sorry to be so pathetic man." Ryan finished The Braves logo and looked up at his co-worker. "What about you Darrel? You must have plans that go beyond this place."

Darrel pulled off his hat and stretched. Now he seemed unable to meet Ryan's face.

"Yeah, yeah I do, I guess. I mean I've been workin' steady since I left school. That was about six years ago, so I got me a nice nest egg. I'm figurin' on getting a trade once I know I can pay for it all. School, start up costs afterwards, all that good stuff. That way one day I won't have to work for nobody but myself. No more bosses."

Ryan was surprised, but pleasantly so. Darrel had never shared this particular dream with him before. "That sounds pretty awesome man. What are you thinking of doing?"

Darrel smiled and put his hat back on with a flourish. "Plumbin' and electrical son. And maybe some general contracting as well. But I'm tellin' you, you can't beat plumbin' and electrical. You can't build a house without em, and when they break, well that's just repeat business."

"True that." Ryan went back to doodling on Darrel's shoe.

"What's that?" Darrel asked pointing at the squiggles Ryan was now drawing near his ankle.

"Oh, uh, it's your name in Hebrew, or well the closest I can get anyways, given that Darrel's not really a Jewish name. It's just something me and my friends used to do back in Hebrew school when we were first learning the alphabet."

Darrel pulled his foot toward his face and observed the art work. "Nice."

He was about to place his foot back on the table to let Ryan proceed when they heard a commotion outside the door. They could hear raised voices, one of which definitely belonged to Bill Richardson. He was yelling about the lack of attentive service at this establishment and from the sounds of it haranguing one of the staff. The argument continued and eventually led to Richardson calling for a manager. Ryan and Darrel just looked at each other. They were probably needed by their fellow co-workers. In fact, they could probably be accused of shirking their duties, which one could argue was the cause of Mr. Richardson's dissatisfaction. But they knew Richardson could not be pleased no matter how hard they worked, so they simply listened to the scuffle outside and kept quiet. Once they could no longer hear anyone outside the door they both resumed their previous relaxed positions.

"So, you going out again tonight?" Ryan asked, continuing his doodles.

"Yup." Darrel lowered the brim of his hat over his eyes again.

"Cool."

"You comin' with this time?"

"Probably not man, I've been up since four am."

"Cool."

Ryan laid the pen down and looked at the door, searching it for signs of life on the other side. "Think anyone will notice if we take a lunch break?"

Darrel snorted under his hat. "Who cares?"

Ryan let one brief flash of guilt shoot through him, he used to be such an efficient and hard worker, but the feeling passed as he heard Richardson's raised voice again.

"Alright, I'm gonna go out there. I'll take the garbage with me so I've got an excuse to go outside. You give it five or ten and follow me out. I'll be in my car."

Darrel watched as Ryan pulled the half empty garbage bag out of the office bin. "Roger that good buddy. I think today I'll switch things up. A man cannot live on Big Macs alone. Today is a Quarter Pounder day."

"If we go to McDonald's you have to promise not make fun of me again!" Ryan exclaimed as he opened the door.

"Then don't order the McNugget meal little lady. Get a burger like a man."

Ryan peered through the open door to ensure no customers or members of management where around. Then he turned back to Darrel. "McNuggets do not belong to any one gender, they are delicious and golden and-

His words were cut of by the sound of footsteps coming towards the office. "We'll continue this over lunch." He slipped out before whoever was approaching could catch him.

"Whatever lady fingers," Darrel called after him.

xxXxx

When five o'clock finally rolled around Ryan felt like a prisoner let free from jail after doing twenty five to life. He'd driven home as fast as he legally could and was barely inside his apartment before he started to tear off his work uniform. Even though the range was not a particularly dirty place he always felt he needed a shower immediately after returning home. Whether the grime left behind by the range was real or imagined, a shower gave him the sensation of washing the place off. Once this ritual was completed Ryan could almost pretend he'd never even been at the range. Like a trauma victim getting over a tragedy his mind would erase worst parts of the day and he'd forget everything about the eight hours he'd spent at work.

The shower worked it usual magic and once he was dressed in his own clothes again Ryan felt better. At least, his soul felt better. His stomach however, was angrily reminding him that he hadn't eaten since lunch and that Chicken McNuggets, while yummy, were not proper nutrition. He walked over to his fridge to see what, if anything, was on the menu for tonight. The short trip from the bathroom to the kitchen turned out to be a wasted effort when the fridge yielded up only two eggs, some cheese, half a pint of milk and something that was unidentifiable. Ah, bachelorhood. Ryan briefly considered his usual options, dialing out for pizza or Chinese, but he felt he'd done enough damage to his arteries for one day. There was only one other solution.

He walked to the far right of his apartment and laid his ear against the wall. He listened intently for any movement or sound that would mean the neighboring tenant was in. After several seconds he heard enough thumps and bumps to satisfy him that there was indeed someone home, now he just had to determine whether or not they could be of any use to him. Ryan left the wall and went over to his front door. He opened it enough to stick the top of his body out and sniff. Three deep inhales later he was a happy man. He left the door slightly ajar and retreated to his bedroom for the necessary props. He threw all the dirty laundry he could find into a basket and carried it through his still open door.

Several steps later he was standing in front of his neighbor's door, laundry basket in hand and a pathetic look on his face. He kicked the door a few times with his foot and waited for an answer. After a few seconds he heard the volume of the radio inside the apartment being lowered and the sound of foot steps coming towards him. The door opened part ways but was stopped courtesy of a security chain. A feminine hand pushed out through to grip the door, and two intensely blue eyes peered at him from behind the chain.

"Who is it?"

"Hey Poppy, it's me Ryan." He was barely finished speaking when he heard the chain being unlatched and the door was swung open to reveal his petite neighbor.

"Hi Ryan! How are you?" she asked.

Poppy looked the same as she always did; pretty, small and happy. Valera and Ryan had actually called her Pixie for weeks after she'd moved in because that was what she brought to mind. Luckily, neither had done it to her face, but they'd had an embarrassed laugh over it when they'd realized their mistake. Valera had pointed out between chuckles that it was an honest mix up, as after all, they'd gotten the P part right, and Poppy was just as cutesy sounding as Pixie. Ryan had laughed and said the neighbor lady was going to think he had a stutter. He couldn't stop thinking Pixie in his head whenever he spoke to her and this resulted in his calling her Pi-Pi-Poppy. This had become one of their inside jokes and Poppy became P-P-P-Poppy during private conversations.

Ryan pushed aside the memories of Valera and got on with his plans for dinner. "I'm good. I was just about to do some laundry and I thought maybe you were up for a trade tonight."

Their building had a coin operated laundry mat for tenants who chose not to buy their own appliances. Ryan, however, was not one to trust his laundry to public machines. Valera had been astounded by the amount of cleaning product and paraphernalia in his apartment when she had first begun to stay over. She had known about his OCD, but had assumed there was something coded in the DNA of men that left them unable to care too much about such things. She had quickly learned this was not the case with Ryan.

He talked about his washer/dryer combo the way some men boasted about their cars. She had to admit they were top of the line and much more convenient than schlepping coins and bags of clothes to a laundry mat, and she eventually let him do her washing with his. Ryan, she would readily admit to anyone, was better at washing, folding and ironing laundry then she, or her mother, was.

Valera had, in passing, mentioned this to Poppy. And Poppy, who had a particular skill set of her own that both Ryan and Valera lacked, had offered her services in return for his. Or at least access to the washer and dryer so she would not have to find fifteen dollars in change every time she wanted to wash clothes. Poppy it had turned out was a chef. She was head of the kitchen at a vegetarian restaurant not far from their complex. When she heard of the existence of a washer and dryer just mere feet from her front door, and a man who knew how to operate them she offered to cook her neighbors dinner whenever she wanted to use the machines. Valera, a vegetarian, had accepted happily on behalf of them both because she was just coming off a double shift and monstrously hungry.

Ryan had been unsure about the situation at first. He didn't mind lending out the services of his washer. He was also willing to throw Poppy's stuff in with theirs as long as she did the unmentionables herself. Ryan enjoyed boasting to anyone who would listen how white he could get their whites and often forced Valera and to sit through his demonstrations of this as if they were starring in a detergent commercial.

What he was worried about was the vegetarian nature of the meals. He always made sure Valera's half of whatever they were sharing was meat free, and he had no problem with her ordering the veggie-something or other at whichever restaurant they were eating in. He was not sure however, that a veggie meal was a great trade on his end for hours of laundry. He'd quickly changed his tune after sampling the first meal Poppy had whipped up for them, and he'd actually looked forward to the days she would knock on his door with a laundry basket in hand. This was why he was now standing in front of Poppy's door, pretty much begging for his supper.

"I mean if you're not cooking, that's cool. I could still do your stuff if you want…" Ryan let his voice trail off in a seemingly innocent manner.

Poppy took a good look at the basket and the man holding it. He seemed thinner, but maybe that was her imagination. She couldn't be sure as it had been some time since she'd seen him in more than passing. When she'd realized Maxine and Ryan had broken up Poppy had been reluctant to avail herself of his washer. She'd struck the original deal with Maxine and felt Ryan had probably only agreed to please his girlfriend. She'd also realized that, despite how nice they both were to her, the relationship the three of them shared was more of an urban necessity than a close friendship. She didn't know Maxine's real address or her phone number. She knew Ryan by his first name only. She didn't eat with them when she cooked for them. She just dropped the meals off at their door in some Tupperware.

She'd been thoroughly bummed out by the fact Maxine and Ryan's relationship hadn't worked out. But she'd still felt like it would cross some unspoken line to approach either of them in the street, or say like right now, the hallway, and express her sadness. For weeks she had agonized over whether or not to ask Ryan for Maxine's number. But this would entail speaking about Maxine in Ryan's presence. This caused Poppy to second guess herself in a way that made her inner monologue sound like Jerry Seinfeld was doing a routine in her head. Will he think I'm being to forward? What if he thinks I'm more concerned about the girlfriend than him? What if Maxine thinks I'm crazy for calling her? What would I say, "Hey it's me the chick who used to do her laundry at your place, how's life"? I tell ya folks that's what you get for trying to be a friend.

In the end it had all proved too much for poor, pixie like Poppy and she'd simply ignored the situation and tried to make the days between laundry mat visits stretch by turning her underwear inside out for a second go around. Seeing Ryan standing there, looking obviously pathetic, and probably more than a little hungry made her feel horrible about not checking in with him, distant -not- quite- friendship- relationship aside. If he was here now he clearly didn't think they should have stopped trading laundry for food. Maybe he hadn't even realized they, or rather she, had. Poppy decided then and there that too hell with modern living, and unspoken social rules, she was going to get to know her neighbor. No more leaving the Tupperware by the door and skulking off.

"You're in luck I just started my vegan version of spaghetti. Very good, I promise, it's a reworked Spanish recipe. And I'm sure I could rustle up some clothes that need washing. Come on in."

Ryan nearly dropped the basket in relief, his stomach was doing kart wheels it was so empty. Poppy could have told him she was serving dirt and he would have eaten it at this point.

"Thanks a lot." Ryan smiled at her as he maneuvered the basket past her and entered the apartment. "It smells great in here. Where should I lay this? Do you have a hamper?"

Poppy just smiled and shut the door behind her. The laundry could wait. "Just drop it wherever. If you really want to be a help get that red wine open for me. The glasses are in the cupboard over the sink."

The look on Ryan's face could best be described as astonished. He'd come over hoping only to score a Tupperware dish full of goodness, wine suggested a social call. He'd never really hung out with Poppy without Valera present. In fact, the five minutes he'd been inside her apartment was five minutes more than he'd ever spent in her home. Usually she came to him, or well Valera.

Poppy noticed the dumb founded expression on his face. "You okay?"

"Oh, yeah, yeah, I'm good. Right, the wine." He reached for the bottle and then retrieved the glasses from the shelf she's indicated to. "Um, do you have anything to open this with?"

Poppy tossed him a cork screw and Ryan began to relax. He could do this. They'd hung out before; if loading a washer together counted as hanging out. Of course Valera had always been part of the equation and he'd always thought of Poppy as more her friend than his, but that was just silly. She was his neighbor, not Maxine's. If he was going to hit her up for a meal the least he could do was sit down and eat it with her. It wasn't like Poppy was going to come on to him. Was Poppy going to come on to him? She was a nice girl, and really very pretty, but he wasn't up for any amorous advances right now, he just wanted Maxine back. He feared his payback for trying to swindle a meal was going to be him trying to explain to Poppy that he was only interested in getting into her pantry, not her pants.

"So Ryan," Poppy was now stirring something on the stove that smelled delicious. "Mind if I ask you something?"

He swallowed the lump that was forming in his throat. "Okay."

She turned around to face him with her back to the stove. "What's your last name?"

"Huh? Oh, it's Wolfe."

"Good to know. Mine's Baker, which is funny, because I'm a chef, not a baker."

"Right."

Poppy knew the only way to kill an awkward situation was to ignore it. So she continued on. "Can I ask you something else?"

"Sure."

"Did um, did you and Maxine break up? I mean I kind of figured you did, but I just want to be sure."

"Yeah we did. I'm sorry I thought you already knew. I just figured, you know, since Max hasn't been around… or maybe she'd told you, like girl talk or whatever."

Poppy went back to stirring. "I, uh, I actually only spoke with her when she was at your place. I guess we both just thought that was how it would be, that'd she'd be around so we never exchanged numbers or what not."

"Oh." Ryan felt kind of lousy. They'd eaten Poppy's food but never really gotten to know her. But then she'd never really made any special effort either. Maybe that's what the questions and the sit down meal where about.

"So, how are you holding up? Is Maxine okay? Is there a chance for reconciliation?"

Poppy wondered if her questions were too numerous and too personal. But she kept on probing. "And I don't mean to be nosy but are you still working where Max works? Because I saw you in some kind of uniform and I was just wondering."

Ryan's head was spinning. He didn't know if he could face all of this right now. But the theme of the day seemed to be him unloading to people, strangers or not, so he went with it.

"Well I can't speak for Maxine, but I'm pretty busted up over the whole thing." He watched as Poppy set their dinner on the table. "Tell you what why don't we discuss it over dinner?"

She smiled and was relieved that he wasn't offended by her investigative efforts. "Okay. I guess we'll definitely need that wine then."

"Yeah. That was a good call." Ryan said immediately pouring them both a glass.

"Can I, can I just do one thing?" Poppy asked coming towards him.

"Okay?"

Ryan was puzzled but figured she meant she needed to finish some part of the cooking, or even go to the ladies. But that didn't explain why she was invading his personal space. He just watched her as she removed the wine glasses from his hands and looked up at him with watery eyes. Next thing he knew she was embracing him, and as it had been with Calleigh that morning, it was some seconds before he could reciprocate the hug.

"I'm sorry you and Maxine broke up. I thought you guys were really great together. I'm sure she's busted up too." All of this was spoken into his shoulder before Poppy pulled away.

She moved back towards the table and wiped her eyes. "Sorry about that. Girl thing I guess. We want happy endings for people we like, even if we don't know them well."

She sat down and indicated that Ryan should do the same. Once he had joined her at the table she offered him a fork and watched as he dug into his meal. She picked up the wine he had abandoned and took a long sip.

"Thanks." Ryan said after he swallowed a huge bite. He was grateful to her for more than the food, but could think of nothing else to say.

Poppy seemed to understand however, because she simply picked up her wine, took another sip and placed her free hand over his. "No problem. Now tell me all about it."

Ryan just stared at her with his eyes wide and his mouth full. He opened his mouth to try and say something, anything, but all that came out was pasta.

"Well," Poppy laughed at the sight of him. "Maybe after you finish your dinner you can tell me all about it."

xxXxx

When Ryan left Poppy's apartment it was only eight o' clock at night, but he felt like it was long after midnight. Once they'd finished eating they'd retired to Poppy's couch to finish off the bottle of wine and to hash out what had happened between him and Max. When explaining their troubles to Poppy, Ryan had, as with Shem, left out a few critical points in the story line. He was open to adding Poppy to his, at this point, very low roster of friends and confidants, but was not so sure this entailed telling her about his gambling problem. It was pretty heavy stuff to drop on an acquaintance who just thought you were going through a break up. And secretly, Ryan also feared Poppy wouldn't want to be even his sort of friend, let alone a real friend, if she knew. Until he had a better handle on her character he figured all she needed to know was that he and Max had broken up because he'd done something stupid that cost him his job and her respect. It wasn't really a lie; it just wasn't the whole truth.

And even if he'd only told Poppy half of the story it was still an exhausting half to have to relive. Wine made him sleepy at the best of times. When it was paired with pasta, some sort of vegan cheesecake and pouring out your emotions to what amounted to a virtual stranger it was the equivalent of three Ambien. Ryan was glad he'd left his full laundry basket in Poppy's apartment as he made the short walk from her couch to his own. All of his limbs felt as if they'd been replaced by sand bags, and he was certain that for the first time in awhile he'd have no trouble sleeping.

Once inside his own apartment Ryan stopped in front of his couch and considered crashing on it for the night. It was just sitting there; beckoning to him, like he was a soldier on leave and it was a trick on a brothel balcony. But he resisted the temptation and stumbled into his bedroom. If he was finally going to get a good night's sleep he was going to do it in his own bed. He pulled back the covers and crawled into bed still fully clothed, and was asleep moments later.

When he awoke next it was four am again, but it was not panic, or the glowing numbers on his alarm clock that woke him. Instead, it was that feeling we all get, asleep or not, when you know, despite how impossible the situation is, you are not alone in your own bedroom. Ryan blinked a few times and looked around, for a moment he wondered if he was having that recurring dream where he was awake, but could not move and felt terrified because of this. His Bubbie had called it "The Hag" when he was little and promised him that she would burn some sage in his room to ensure the old lady never came back.

But, it couldn't be a hag dream because he wasn't paralyzed. He could move his arms and legs. He'd started failing them around after he woke up just to make sure. So, whatever was happening, it was not due to a neurological phenomenon named after an elderly woman in which the mind is conscious, but the body slumbers on.

"You can stop rolling around man, the old lady ain't here. You dig?"

Ryan did as he was told for a few seconds, but then the cop inside of him took over and he realized if someone was giving him orders in his bedroom that meant someone had broken into his apartment. And this someone apparently hung out with The Greasers. He was about to lunge for the gun that should have been in his night stand when he remembered that it had been taken from him along with his badge. Shit. Horatio would be sorry when they found him dead, the victim of a B and E. He searched the dark for his assailant and tried to figure out what else in his room could be used as a weapon. His gaze came to rest on his closet. His saxophone was inside. It wasn't much, but it was metal, large and heavy. He'd worked cases in which people had been killed by less. He just needed to figure out how he was going to retrieve the instrument without getting felled by his attacker.

"Let's not do Parker and Coltrane's instrument of choice that kind of injustice. I mean it's bad enough it's forced to live in a Jewish, science major's closet. A cop's closet no less. It's supposed to be a thing of power and mysticism that brings the voodoo down, and you're gonna use it to brain me? I swear some people have no respect for the sacred things in life, and they called me sacrilegious… I ask you."

Ryan was passed the point of being frightened and was seriously considering that it had finally all gotten to be too much for him and he'd lost his mind. There was no other way to explain why he was hearing a disembodied voice speak to him in his apartment during the wee hours of the morning. Well, except for the scenario where he was currently being burglarized. It was the only close to rational explanation he had, so he went with it.

"I'm a cop," he said out loud. "So you don't want to do anything stupid. So, just come out with your hands up."

He swore he heard laughter, but he still couldn't see anyone.

"You know man that only works on two kinds of people, the criminal and the stupid. And the real kicker is those two kinds of people can be both criminal and stupid or one or the other, but they definitely have to be living to come out with their hands up. But if you insist, I will."

Ryan's heart nearly stopped as his supposed burglar did not step out of the darkness, but instead seemed to materialize from it. It started as an outline and the slowly became a man, and not just any man. There, at the end of Ryan's bed, was one of his personal heroes, Lenny Bruce; the very dead since 1966 Lenny Bruce. He was standing there, defying all logic, with his hands up, a lit cigarette in his mouth and grin on his face.

"Mwwwaaah ya did it copper! Ya got me, mwwaah!" Lenny did his best old time gangster impression despite the smoke dangling from his lips, and then began laughing out loud. "You should see your face! Here's a word of advice man. It's hard to take a cop seriously when he's hiding under the covers. You dig officer?"

_Paranormal activity? The result of too much wine? Has Ryan gone mad? Tune in next time! _

_Who was that masked man?! Come back Masked Man we want to thank you!_


	4. Chapter 4

Disclaimer: If I owned anything belonging to the CSI franchise I wouldn't be writing this, I'd be sleeping on a big pile of money after extracting sexual favors in return for screen time from Eric Szmanda ("You want it to stop being the Morpheus show, you take one for the team handsome.").

A/N: Lyrics and chapter title from the song "One Step Forward" by Max Romeo and the Upsetters.

Chapter 4: One Step Forward

"_Every day people are straying away from the church and going back to God"._

"_If anyone in this audience believes God made his body, and your body is dirty, the fault lies with the manufacturer"._

_-Lenny Bruce_

_Onward, forward, don't step backward  
Step out of Babylon  
Onward, forward, don't step backward  
Step out of Babylon_

Ryan poked one eye out from under his bed covers. This was not happening. Lenny Bruce was not standing at the foot of his bed. This was a dream, it had to be. Ryan screwed up his face and tried really hard to wake himself up. He added some blinking and shaking to the mix for good measure, and to speed the process along.

"Er, you okay there Officer? I mean not for nothing, but you're starting to resemble this cat I watched OD after we had a particularly wild night at the Palms."

Ryan stopped blinking and faced the apparition. "No. I am not okay. Because you are dead! So, you should not be here. The fact you are means one of two things; I drank way too much wine, or I'm cracking up. And, at this point either is a distinct possibility."

"Maybe," Lenny walked across the room to lean against Ryan's window. His face was reflective as he took a drag from his smoke. "Or, maybe there's a third possibility."

"Jesus, you're right." Ryan began struggling to get out of his bed. "I'm probably having a stroke or there's a tumor. I have to get to a hospital." He turned huge eyes to the man that was, but shouldn't be, in front of him. "What am I supposed to say? Help me doctor I see dead people? I'm going to die while being laughed at!"

"Whoa, whoa, settle down kid! You are one high strung individual you know that?"

Ryan looked up from the bed were he was busy checking his pulse and vital signs for oncoming neurological disturbances. "You're the second person that's told me that today."

"Well, yeah, I'm just surprised I'm only the second. Anyway, that's not the point. The point is…what is the point? Forgive me, there were a lot of drugs before you know? Right! The point is, is, is… I am here for a reason."

Ryan was incredulous to say the least. "Oh, right, of course you are. You're here for a reason. Let me guess. You're here to help me mend the error of my ways, and put every thing to right."

"Well now that you mention it, yes." Lenny gave a quick bow in Ryan's direction. "At your service Officer. But, I warn you these are spiritual and life services only. I will not blah your blah."

"Oh no, oh no," Ryan was out of bed now and pacing his bedroom floor. "Don't you see what's going on? There is no such thing as ghosts, or spirit guides or whatever other Shangri-La, shambolic, Oprah's secret bull shit you want to sell me. So, that means my mind is just projecting all of this."

"I'm not following, I mean I did mention the drugs earlier…"

"You," Ryan pointed a finger at the man he considered his comedic idol. "Are one of my cultural heroes. And, you just happen to appear to me at the most mentally stressful time of my life. It's so obvious! I'm going mad! I've created you so I don't have to deal anymore, like those people with multiple personalities. I mean, look at me. I don't eat, I don't sleep, I run at all hours of the day and night, because I'm afraid if I stop it'll all catch up to me. Judging by this, it has."

"Seriously kid, you need to relax. The only more neurotic Jew I've ever met was Woody Allen. You aren't Woody Allen's kid are you? Of course you're not. I mean he's not in bed with you right now." Lenny laughed at his own joke again. "I'm sorry, I joke, Woody's an excellent man, or at least he was when I knew him, that bit about the Moose, priceless. Shame about the Asian girl, but who am I to judge, I went out with a needle in my arm."

Ryan was dumbfounded. The human brain was an incredible machine; the most incredible machine really. He'd read theories in grad school that explained dreams as the way the brain unloaded waste information. That's why we see strangers in our dreams, they aren't really strangers they're just the hundreds of people you pass randomly on the street every day. Your conscious mind forgets them instantly, it has to or it would all be too much. But your subconscious catalogues it all away. Keeps it separate to keep us safe, until we sleep, when it all runs together like a bad art house film.

Every night he'd spent listening to Lenny Bruce's albums, any time he'd read anything about Woody Allen, the incredible amount of stress he'd been under, it was all meshing together to make this. Not bad for a mad man. But, it was still serious. If this was a dream he would have been able to take control of the situation by now. The fact he was still watching Lenny Bruce smoke in his bedroom meant his mind was clearly shattered.

"It's his biggest joke you know," Lenny said, as if he could read Ryan's thoughts. "How incredibly amazing and capable, yet utterly fragile our white matter is. You're right kid, it can come up with the theory of relativity and still crack like an egg shell. But, that isn't the case right here."

Ryan sighed. "There's no such thing as God. I'm sorry, but this can't be anything but a glitch in my head." He rubbed his hands over his face. "I'm sorry, but it's not possible."

"You're not wrong, but you're not right either. Dig this, it's not that there's no God. There's just no God like you know him. Forget about right and wrong and good and evil, my people got it right, yours got it wrong, and mecka-lecka-hiney-mecka-hiney-ho, all that bullshit. He's there, or it's there, I don't know I've never met the Creator, I just do his work. And, I'm not just talking about now, as on Earth as it is in Heaven. Make no mistake. He knew what I was about. That I was talking the truth when I was down here the first time."

Ryan sat down on his bed and cradled his head in his hands. "Great. Now I'm channeling Shem, via Lenny Bruce."

"Hey! Hey, you leave that stoner out of this. He's a good kid, he takes his Bubbie to Shul every week, which is more than you or I can say. But, he's got nothing to do with this."

Ryan's response was to peer forlornly from between his fingers and scrunch up his face in an effort to finally wake up.

"You keep doing that your face will stick that way."

Ryan gave up fighting the madness. It was clearly useless, and the sooner he let it run its course the sooner he'd be lucid again. He hoped. He fell back on his bed and looked up at the ceiling. He took deep breath, and went with it.

"Okay, so let's say you are here to help me. How are you gonna do it? You gonna get me my job back?"

"No, not directly myself." Lenny lit another smoke and sat on the bed next to where Ryan lay.

"Then you can't help me."

Lenny rolled his eyes. "As if that's the major problem here, the loss of your job. The only way this works kid is if we're honest. This is about the cards, your girl leaving you, the reason you played the cards which led to your girl leaving you."

"Jesus Christ."

"Leave him out of this too. Poor fucker is messed up after what he went through. The human race was way too much for that cat. I mean what can you expect he's practically simple minded, I mean we make those kids wear helmets, but we just let him take on the Romans. Believing the best of everyone, how naïve can you get? Spends all his time crying over the Palestinians and little African babies. See, his problem is he always picks the hopeless causes no one really gives a fuck about. You can be too good you see what I'm saying?"

Ryan tossed his arm over his face. "No, I do not see what you're saying," he mumbled into his elbow. "But, really why should I expect to?"

"Well if you'd let me finish, I would say, I bring it up because you suffer from a bit of the same problem as him."

Ryan sat up and faced his supposed saviour, or at least the saviour's envoy. "You did not just compare me to Christ. In fact, what the hell man? We're Jews, we don't even believe in Jesus. You just pretty much admitted the Messiah we get all the shit for supposedly betraying is the real deal. And, for the record the only thing I have in common with Jesus, is we're both Jews."

"Jews who worry about every thing, so that's two things in common now." Lenny said while blowing smoke rings. "And then there's that tendency to think suffering is noble. Or, that it's your responsibility to tell the rest of us how to play nicely, Officer."

Ryan simply raised an eye brow. "It's still a big stretch. Sacrifice is hardly my middle name."

"His isn't either. From what I understand it starts with H."

Ryan's response was to groan.

"Okay, okay I admit that was not the best joke, but I'm trying here." Lenny scratched his head and took another drag. "How do I explain this? It's like you have the same case of sad over African kids as him. Sad over the stuff most people will admit is a terrible thing, but they go on with their lives. People like you want to help, even when there's next to nothing that can be done to fix things. Hence, the burning out when you realize it's an impossible fight. Idealism is the first symptom of rapid onset and progressive cynicism you dig? "

"Why do you even care? I thought you hated cops."

Now it was Lenny's turn to be incredulous. "I do not hate anything, full stop. Well, except for racism and every other ism, and every rule that tells people they have to behave a certain way or they're icky and dirty and going to hell."

"I'm pretty sure that's the definition of the Lord's work." Ryan quipped as he lay back down.

"No, that is the definition of work done by God's over zealous admirers here on Earth. Why do you think it's called heaven my friend? Because it is, which means everyone they told you wasn't going there, did." Lenny halted his tirade long enough to wink before continuing on. "And, let me tell you it's not the people that see the gray in life that the bouncers at the Pearly Gates keep waiting, it's the ones who see it all as black and white. You got a zero sum mentality and he's got a beef with you. Let me tell you whatever he is, man, woman, shaft of light, or turtles all the way down, he is definitely compassionate, and fundamentalism is his pet peeve."

"Alright I get it," Ryan said rolling his eyes. "God's a lesbian tranny who is more liberal than the elite media."

Lenny looked up at the ceiling mulled it over. "Well, I don't know about that, but I can tell you he'd let one of those lesbian trannies into heaven, because I've met a few. And as for the media, the last thing you can accuse those bozos of is being elite, or liberal. There hasn't been a dangerous news story in this country since Woodward and Bernstein brought down Nixon. I'm sorry I never lived to experience that one first hand."

The mention of Watergate made Ryan conversational. Current affairs and history always did. "You know, I mean I guess you know, because you know about Nixon. Wait. Why am I even saying this? You know because my mind made you up and I know." He gave up when he realized he was about to start a leisurely discussion with his very own stress induced hallucination.

"Know what?" Lenny asked, turning to look at him with raised eyebrows.

Ryan rubbed his face again. "Nothing. You aren't really here."

Lenny rolled his eyes in response. "This isn't going to go anywhere if you don't talk to me kid. And, clearly I don't know what you were about to say, because if I did I wouldn't have had to ask."

"Then how did you know I thought I was having a hag?" Ryan retorted.

"That's different. You were projecting a lot of fear just then. We, uh, messengers from beyond, if you will, we can sense emotions when they're strong enough and thoughts when they're loud enough, but I can't pick out some random thought brought on by the mention of Richard Nixon. I mean I'm fairly low on the totem pole here kid. You want magic you're gonna have to hope one of the holiest of the holy show up."

Ryan was indignant. "For the record I was not that scared."

"Sure whatever Officer, the fact I nearly shit my pants in fear from the residual emotion rolling of you means nothing."

Ryan chose to ignore Lenny's insinuation and continue on. "I was just going to say, if you didn't know, but I'm sure you know, Dustin Hoffman played Bernstein in the movie they made about it. He played you too, in your biopic."

Lenny reclined back onto his elbows before taking another drag. There was a proud look on his face. "I know. And, a great choice I might add. The Graduate, All the Presidents Men, Kramer vs. Kramer, Tootsie, that man is a credit to our people."

Ryan responded without much fore thought, as was his habit when emotionally taxed. "Yeah, but it's a shame about the Polanski thing you know? I mean Hoffman really supports him, and I get it he's made some great films, and he's one of us, but the cop in me can't get past the maybe drugging and raping a fifteen year old."

"Hey, hey, Roman Polanski has never been convicted of a crime." Lenny said, tapping ash on the bed spread.

"Watch yourself!" Ryan batted at the ash, but then thought better of it. It wasn't really there anyways, right? "I know there's never been a conviction. But, my line of work tells me that hardly makes a man innocent. Nine times out of ten it's the complete opposite actually. However, barring the invention of a time machine that transports physical evidence to the present time I guess we'll never know."

"Still, it's a shame, I mean all that talent," Lenny said trying to mind where he dropped his ashes. "But I suppose every group's got one, I mean black people have to live with that Jackson fellow and his family. Talented mind you, but you know any mention of young boys, and well you just never know do you? But then, the Catholic Church seems to have recovered alright, so this Jackson fellow may have nothing to worry about."

Ryan sat up and placed his elbows on his knees, his face framed by his hands. "Yeah." He was contemplative for only a second before reality, or the lack of it in this case, bore in upon him. "Wait, why am I discussing movies with you? This is crazy! I'm sitting here shooting the breeze like this is totally okay and normal."

"Calm down wouldja. And, don't start pacing again, that shit makes me nervous you dig? But you're halfway right, we can't be sitting around pissing into the wind like we've got nothing to accomplish here. Pretty soon the sun'll be up and so will my time. This gig is a little like turning tricks, it's largely a nocturnal business."

"Did you just compare being an alleged messenger of the Lord to hooking?" Ryan asked.

"Oh what, now you're gonna get all sanctimonious on me Mr. I'm an atheist? Oh excuse me sir, I didn't realize there was a lady present." Lenny stood up and looked at the stub of his cigarette. He peered around for some where to toss it, then gave up and blew on it causing the butt to disappear with a pop. "I've got to be on my way. But I'll be back, and I'd like to say when you least expect it in a really scary voice, but like I said this gig's more regular then the postal service, so if it's dark, I'll be around."

"Not if I seek the proper medical assistance first." Ryan shot back at him.

"Oh yeah? Even if that was the answer. If I really was the figment of a rapidly growing tumor. You and what medical insurance my friend? I'm afraid in this case the capitalist monster that is American healthcare beats you." Lenny smirked at him as he started to fade. "Face it kid, you're stuck with me. One last thing…you have to let them in to go forward." This remark brought an exasperated look to his face, and he turned his face upwards before continuing. "Really? Let them in to go forward? What kind of fortune cookie bullshit is that? Are you even proof reading this stuff before you send us down here?" He faced Ryan again. "Yeah sorry kid, but that's it, so dig it, let them in to go forward."

Ryan watched as the image of Lenny Bruce faded completely from his bedroom while mumbling about amateur writing teams and monkeys with type writers. He stared at the empty space left behind for several seconds before his eyes began to feel heavy and his mind cloudy. He only managed to blink twice before falling back on his bed, and into a deep, dreamless sleep.

When his alarm clock went off at eight am Ryan awoke shocked and bewildered. It had been awhile since he'd slept long, and sound, enough to need a wake up call. As the events of the night came back to him he wondered why he didn't feel more tired. If he remembered correctly he'd been woken at four am, and kept awake for at least an hour, if not two. But of course, it had just been a dream. He hadn't really spent the wee hours chatting with the spirit of Lenny Bruce. And, he wasn't crazy; he'd just imbibed too much wine, after too little rest and nourishment.

Ryan shook his head and got out of bed. There would be no time for a run this morning, but he was okay with that. It was Friday, and he had the whole weekend ahead of him. He'd save the running for later on, so the fixating wouldn't start when he was alone and had nothing pressing to do for forty-eight hours. He left his bedroom and made for the shower. There probably wouldn't be time for breakfast this morning either, and he wasn't going to stop at Bennetts'. Today, he would spend that extra time doing something he hadn't done regularly in awhile. Today, he would shave.

_The road is rough and the hill is steep  
Ah let me tell you say  
The mountain is high and the valley is deep  
Oh yeah oh yeah_

_Onward, forward, don't step backward  
Step out of Babylon  
Onward, forward, don't step backward  
Step out of Babylon_

xxXxx

"Hey Darrell, you have any plans for later?"

"Not strictly speaking, but seeings as it's Friday, I figure the usual, gettin' laid out."

"Wanna hang out?"

"Is the Pope Catholic?"

"So, that's a yes?"

"You're Jewish, not living in a cave, yeah it's a yes. Is the Pope Catholic? Yes. Get, it?"

"I know the Pope's Catholic, I just wanted to make sure, I mean you might not…you wanna come over after you get off?"

"Yup. But give me some time to get cleaned up, so lets say going on ten-thirty yeah?"

"Sounds good."

"Don't go fallin' asleep on me either."

"I won't. I got a good night's last night."

"Well, did you now? That'd be the first in awhile."

"Whatever."

"Just like my Momma used to say, tore up from the floor up, that's what you've been. But, never mind that. We'll have ourselves a time tonight."

"Just no dance clubs okay, I hate that stuff."

"Son, do I look like I dance?"

"Uh…"

"Don't hesitate when you answer that."

"Well, I mean ordinarily I'd say no, but that whole Brokeback Mountain thing really changed my perspective on you cowboys. I mean for all I know you love going dancing with your, er, male friends, and wearing leather, and…"

"Not so funny in a headlock are you?"

"Nuff! Nuff fa ookie!"

"Oh yes, yes the noogie! Quit squirming! Get back here, you-

"Freedom! See my people are excellent at last minute escapes. Have I told you about Egypt?"

"Run all you like. I know where you live!"

xxXxx

Darrell did indeed know where Ryan lived. And after leaving work, showering and scrounging up some food for himself Ryan was lying on his couch waiting for Darrell's imminent arrival. Darrell wouldn't get off work until nearly ten, and it was only just after seven so Ryan had decided to relax until his friend showed up. Resting now would ensure he wouldn't get tired later, or as Darrell put it, "pussey out". Ryan sighed and rolled onto his side. He used to be so good at burning the midnight oil. One didn't become a forensic investigator because they wanted to sleep. But, lately he just couldn't hack late nights, at least not if they involved anything more than lying in his bed having a panic attack. He couldn't sleep most nights for more than a few hours, but he also couldn't fathom leaving his apartment to do more than jog a few miles, or replenish is fridge and cupboards.

He was lying there, pondering how lame his life had become since he'd lost his job and Maxine, when a knock sounded on his door. Ryan checked his watch and frowned, it was only seven-thirty, and he wasn't expecting Darrell until after ten. The knocks became more insistent and he rose from the couch to and made his way to the door. He wondered who it could be. Poppy with laundry? An earnest charity volunteer looking for money? Equally earnest Jehovah's Witnesses, who would politely badger him to forsake the religion of his father's father and accept Christ? His teammates come to try and get him to talk with them, and grow and kick gambling for good? He almost hoped it was the Jevovahs, they'd be easier to get rid of; he suspected they were used to rejection.

Whoever it was behind the door they were getting impatient, and they were calling him "Dude". He knew that voice, he'd been called dude by that voice before. But, it couldn't be, Shem didn't know where he lived. Ryan turned the deadbolt and opened his door, and was greeted with a sight he'd never expected to see, at least not seriously ever expected to see. Shem and Josh were standing in the hallway of his building, and it looked like they had brought baked goods with them.

"Hey Man!" Shem was ecstatic as always to see him. "I told you he was home." Shem pushed Josh a little to prove his point.

"Yeah, great he's here." Josh was just as under whelmed as always to see him.

Ryan just stood in the door way trying to figure out how they'd found his home. First, the spirit of Lenny Bruce breaks into his bed room, and now this. Had his address been advertised on the news?

"Uh, hey guys. How did you know where I live?" Ryan didn't want to seem rude but he was really at a loss as to why the guys who made his morning coffee were at his place of residence.

"I told you this was a mistake," Josh said to Shem. "He clearly doesn't want us here."

"No, no, it's cool, man, isn't it Ryan?" Shem could not accept his best friend's cynical point of view on people. "I got your address from the computer at the shop. Remember the cake for your girlfriend, er, ex, uh, your, Valera? We delivered it here. Remember?"

"Oh…yeah," It was all Ryan could come up with.

"Yeah and remember I said we'd help you figure out to get your girl back? That's what we're here for! We need to brain storm man. And," Shem paused to push the boxes in his hands towards Ryan. "We brought sustenance. Because, seriously dude, you need to eat."

Ryan was unsure what to do. The rules he'd been raised with made it an unpardonable sin to turn away visitors with food, especially members of his brethren, with food. His mother would have a heart attack if she found out he shut the door in Shem and Josh's faces. He could hear her now, "What? How will people think we raised you? What will they think of you? What will they think of me? They'll think I didn't love you, that's what they'll think". All the same he was expecting Darrell, albeit later on, and he hadn't been expecting these two at all. He wasn't sure what Darrell would make of Shem and Josh. He had a sneaking suspicion that Darrell and The Odd Couple might have very different ideas about what constituted a fun night.

He tried to process all of this while Josh and Shem remained standing in his hallway. He couldn't keep them out there forever; he had to make a decision. Suddenly he heard a disembodied voice, one that sounded suspiciously like the man he had convinced himself was not in his apartment last night, and it was saying; "Let them in to go forward". Ryan didn't believe in divine intervention, but he also couldn't deny that immediately after he heard the voice he opened his mouth and beckoned Shem and Josh into his apartment.

"Oh, cool beans man," Shem waltzed in through the door and then turned back to face Josh. "Told you it was cool."

Josh's reply was to roll his eyes and toss the box he was carrying at Ryan. "Here, put these on some plates or something."

"Yeah, sure, thanks, you didn't have to do all this." Ryan was a little flustered by the turn of events but he didn't want to seem like a complete asshole.

"I didn't want to. But he insisted," Josh said as he and Ryan watched Shem amble around the apartment acquainting himself with what he considered to be the home of a friend.

Finally, Shem came to rest on the floor in front of Ryan's coffee table. "Here's good. I'm getting some good vibes from here. We'll sit around the table, we'll have some tea and some treats and we'll discuss the lady in question. Do you have any cushions or anything man that we can sit on?"

"Uh, yeah use the ones on the couch," Ryan watched as Shem began to organize things to his liking. "But, I don't have any tea. Sorry."

Shem looked up from where he was arranging pillows on the floor. "You don't have any tea? Who doesn't have tea? No worries though," He sprung up from the floor and joined Ryan and Josh in the kitchen area. "I brought my own."

"You brought your own tea?" Ryan asked, raising an eyebrow at Shem.

"Yeah, I mean I figured you'd have some. But, mine is better for our purposes. It's this really great green Sencha from the Japanese grocery near our place. Very calming, but gives you lots of focus. I was gonna bring my tea set so we could have a proper ceremony, really get the mind juices flowing you know? But, Tubby McKill Joy here wouldn't let me."

Josh threw up his hands in exasperation. "There's like a hundred pieces to that thing! It's not a tea set it's an accident waiting to happen! I wasn't lugging that monstrosity out of our place and schlepping it half ways across Miami!"

Shem just pouted at him. "It doesn't have a hundred pieces," he said folding his arms across his chest like a sullen child.

Ryan put a hand on Shem's shoulder and squeezed. "It's okay. I have a kettle, or at least a pot, and plenty of water. I'm sure it'll be just as focusing in a mug as a cup."

Shem's mega-watt smile was back. "Yeah, you're totally right. Okay, let's get down to business. Just show me where everything is and I'll get us set up."

Ten minutes later Josh and Ryan were seated on pillows in front of the coffee table. They were watching Shem pour tea into a mug for each of them. Two of the fancy plates Ryan's Bubbie on his mom's side had given him in college were loaded with Bennett's cookies. He'd scoffed when Bubbie Mintz had produced the plates one Hanukkah. He knew it was hard to be creative eight times, but china? Zayde Mintz had seen the questioning look on his face and winked at him before saying, "For when you have a lady over, eh?". Ryan hadn't appreciated the sentiment at the time, but he had to admit, it did make things look nicer the few times he'd managed to get a girl back to his dorm room. And, the plates were certainly coming in handy now.

Shem was immensely pleased with the plates, because he loved pretty things, and these almost made up for the absence of his tea set. "Nice," he said indicating to the china.

"My Bubbie gave them to me." Ryan said somewhat defensively before he realized Shem was complimenting him.

"Really? That's great. My Bubbie's nice too," Shem jammed a cookie in his mouth before continuing. "I bring her to Shul every weekend."

Two things happened when Shem made this simple statement. Ryan was rocked with an extreme sense of déjà vu, _**He's a good kid, he takes his Bubbie to Shul every week, which is more than you or I can say**_. And, Josh was hit in the face with the cookie crumbs that had come sailing out of Shem's mouth with the word Shul.

Josh wiped at his face impatiently. "Dude! Say it, don't spray it!"

Shem just laughed. "Sorry man." His giggles stopped when he caught the look on Ryan's face. He appeared deep in thought and Shem, who knew nothing of Ryan's late night encounter, assumed it had to do with the reason they were here in the first place. He instantly sobered. "Okay, enough joking around, we've gotta get down to business and get Ryan here his lady friend back."

"Huh?" Ryan returned to the present with a jolt. "Oh, yeah. I mean, this is great you guys, I'm glad you came by and all, but Valera and me it's complicated."

Josh just snorted. "Yeah, you guys and Denise Richards. But, all the same he has a point Shem. What are we gonna do for him?"

"Well," Shem pushed back his hair and tried to think of a response, or a plan to get Valera back. "Well, maybe we should drink the tea first. That'll get us in the right mind frame. And here," He picked up one of the plates and shoved it under Ryan's nose. "Have a cookie first. First food, then thinking. And you'd better not hesitate, because Josh won't."

"Hey!" Josh gave Shem an indignant look, to which his friend only replied with a raised eyebrow and nod towards his mid section. "Yeah," Josh said following Shem's gaze. "I guess you're not wrong."

"Don't have to warn me twice." Ryan reached for the plate and hovered over the selections. In the end he went with two cookies and brownie. A man couldn't go wrong with a brownie. He put the first cookie in his mouth and sighed around it. Things really didn't get much better than Bennetts' baked goods. "Thanks." He said, through a mouthful of crumbs.

So they ate, and they made light conversation, and an hour later they still hadn't gotten to Valera, or how to win her back. But, Ryan had to admit if the tea wasn't exactly as good for focus as Shem had claimed, it was definitely relaxing. It was so relaxing he hadn't noticed the passing of time, and now it was going for nine, and Shem and Josh showed no signs of being in a hurry to leave. Ryan didn't begrudge them, but he was getting a little worried. Darrell, he knew, would find some way to leave the range early and he'd probably make it to Ryan's by ten. Ryan sincerely doubted that tea and cookies were Darrell's idea of a great Friday night.

Still, it was hard to concentrate on those negative thoughts with cookies in his belly and jokes around the table. Shem and Josh were nothing if not funny, and Ryan was enjoying spending time with people who didn't know about his gambling, and clearly wanted to be his friend. Well, at least he knew Shem wanted to be his friend. Josh was still an X-Factor. Nevertheless, it had been quite awhile since Ryan had felt this care free and, if he was honest he didn't want Josh and Shem to leave yet, just in case the good feeling went with them. He watched the pair poke each other with the spoons Shem had used to serve the tea and broke into a wide smile. It was a smile he hadn't rocked in awhile. It was open and goofy, and just a little uncontrollable. Ryan tried to temper the grin on face, but found he couldn't. He decided that if this was his response to prolonged exposure to Shem and Josh, Darrell would like them. Maybe they could all hang out tonight.

"Okay that's enough!" Ryan's thoughts were interrupted by Shem's sudden outburst. "No more spoon wars, we've got to deal with this Valera thing."

"Boo." Josh drew the word out for several seconds. "Come on, we're having a good time here. Don't be a downer. Plus, we've been here forever and he hasn't mentioned her once. The subject obviously isn't up for discussion."

"I'm sorry. I appreciate what you guys are trying to do here. It's just," Ryan was having trouble finding the right words to use. "Me and Valera, we're, it's-

"Complicated?" Josh asked. "Yeah we got that one. Try another word buddy."

Ryan let out a long breath. "It's like remember when you were in high school and there was this girl you always dreamt about?"

Both of his visitors cut him off at the same time.

"Uh, not really." Josh said, eyeing him strangely.

"Totally." Shem said, leaning over the table.

Ryan tried to begin again. "Well, what I mean is, Valera is like this girl right? That I loved, that I still love. And, she's really soft. I mean she feels soft. And, she's nice, and funny, and just accepts people, you know?" Ryan paused for comments, but his new friends just continued to stare at him, so he went on. "And, she's just," He stopped as if remembering something beautiful, and once in a life time. "Really great in bed, I mean you have no idea." Ryan shook his head and widened his eyes, had he just told strangers, well people who barely knew Valera, she was great in bed?

Shem's face was moonstruck. "That's beautiful man."

Josh's face was incredulous and his words sarcastic. "So, she's a girl who's like a girl, and soft, and nice. Great man, that's great we've got lots to go on here. Oh wait, I forgot, she's great in bed."

Ryan couldn't help the bark of laughter that escaped his mouth. "I can't believe I said that. I'm sorry. I mean there's so much more about her."

Josh just waived his hand as if to brush of the explanation. "Whatever, man. You can't take it back now. And, frankly, I'm glad you said it. She's smoking hot, I mean you hope with a girl like that there's more than looks. I mean, hey make my day and tell me she's a super freak." Josh stopped and checked himself then. Ryan was still a cop, and probably quick on his feet. "Oh, sorry man, jeez look at me implying rude things about your girl-friend, well your, uh, someone special to you."

"That's okay." Ryan said. And, honestly it was. He was feeling so good right now nothing could bring him down. It was tough rehashing the good times he and Valera had, but he wanted to share some of them with his new friends. "There was this one time…" He trailed off, evidently it wasn't just hard for him to talk about the good times; it was also hard to remember them. He tried again, but whatever he had been about to say had escaped him. "Sorry, I can't remember what I was gonna say. That's really weird."

"S'okay," Shem said, laughing. "Happens to me all the time."

All three of them laughed at this statement, as it was pretty clear why Shem forgot a lot of things.

"Oh, speaking of forgetting things!" Shem turned to Josh. "I forgot to tell you man, we're out of brownies at the bakery. You need to call Shelia and let her know to make more."

"Who's Shelia?" Ryan asked.

"The girl who bakes on my day off," Josh explained. "And, you didn't forget man."

"What?" Shem wasn't following. "Yes, I did."

Josh shook his head. "Nuh uh, you didn't. We just ate brownies, amongst other things. So, we weren't out until you pilfered them from the store when we left. You just neglected to tell me till now. And really, we only finished those brownies an hour or so ago, so we weren't out till just now. That's not forgetting, it just, uh, good timing!"

Josh crossed his arms and shot his companions a pleased look. His logic, he felt was sound. Ryan and Shem, however, were both too confused to argue with him.

Shem recovered first. "No, no, those brownies weren't from the bakery. We ran out of brownies at the bakery by like two in the afternoon or something. So, I did forget to tell you."

While Ryan was still running to catch up awareness was dawning on Josh. "So, then where did the brownies come from Shem?"

"Oh! They uh, well they," Shem's face reddened as he tried to explain. "They came from your cupboard at our place where you keep all the stuff you bake."

"What?!" Josh nearly fell off his pillow. "Shem, please tell me you did not get these out of the cupboard over the stove."

Shem tried to defend his actions. "Before you get mad, I only took half a dozen, enough for two each, and you should share, that's what friends do. And, it's not like you can't bake more."

Ryan finally caught up to the conversation. "Hey guys, calm down. It's just brownies."

Josh rubbed his eyes. "It's not just brownies."

The other two just stared at him. "What do you mean?" Ryan asked.

Josh took a deep breath. "You feeling pretty relaxed Ryan? Maybe a little happy? Like, really happy?"

Ryan paused for a moment, and then broke out into a grin. "Yeah, now that you mention it, I am."

Shem clapped him on the back. "Good stuff man! I knew you had it in you!"

"No!" Josh cried. "He doesn't. He has some of our stuff in him."

"What?" Shem voiced both his and Ryan's confusion.

"Shem you meathead those were hash brownies!"

xxXxx

_One day you are dreadlocks (well dread)  
Next day you are baldhead (clean shave)  
Onward, forward, don't step backward  
Step out of Babylon  
Onward, forward, don't step backward  
Step out of Babylon_

_Are you a commercialized  
Grabbing at the cash-backs?  
This is a time of decision  
Tell me, what is your plan? yeah_

_Onward, forward, don't step backward  
Step out of Babylon  
Onward, forward, don't step backward  
Step out of Babylon_

_Straight is the road that leads to destruction  
Ooh yeah  
The road to righteousness is narrow  
Ah let me tell you say_

_Down inna Babylon  
One step forward, two steps backward  
Down inna Babylon_

_Uh oh, Spaghetti O's! What do you do with lit up Ryan? I'm thinking video games, lots of video games…_


	5. Chapter 5

Disclaimer: I've never even been to Miami. I own nothing. Title and lyrics are from Sam Roberts' song of the same name. It's on the album "We Were Born in a Flame".

A/N: To all the people following this story, thanks a lot! I estimate your numbers to be around 80 people. That blows my mind. Also, I like to check out all the different countries you guys are from. So bear with me if I get this wrong but, Thanks, Gracias, Takk, Terima kasih, Diakuju, Köszi, komapsumnida, Danke, Merci, Hvala, Dōmo arigatō, Tusind tak…….P.S. I accept reviews in all languages, holla at me!

This chapter is dedicated to all ya'll!

Chapter 5: Where Have All the Good People Gone?*

_Oh the Milky Way has gone a little sour  
The leaves dried and the flower fell away  
I've been sitting, I've been waiting for a sign  
Inhuman beings taking up all of my time_

_Want to leave but I've got to stay  
And I'm wondering more everyday  
Montreal to Hong Kong  
Where have all the good people gone?  
Traffic jam but I'm on the shoulder  
Took ten cops to pull me over  
Bangkok to Babylon  
Where have all the good people gone?_

"Shem you meathead those were hash brownies!"

Josh's words hung in the air for several seconds. He waited for what he thought would be the inevitable explosion from Ryan. But, Ryan was still just staring at him with a grin on his face that managed to reflect both happiness and apathy. Shem, to his credit, had the sense to look remorseful and concerned. Josh figured that his friend understood not only the potential seriousness of what his slip up had wrought, but was also upset about it.

Shem turned to Ryan and offered him a hang dog expression. "I'm really sorry Ryan. I had no idea the brownies were, um, not just brownies. Honest. I would never give anyone drugs, well at least not unless they wanted them, and they were an adult."

Josh rolled his eyes and pretended to shovel. "That's it Shem, just keep digging that hole deeper."

"What?" Shem was confused. His apology, he thought, had been both honest and heart felt. "What did I say?"

"What did you say?" Josh echoed in a mocking tone. "Oh, I don't know, how about the part about giving-

"Hey!" Ryan had finally managed to struggle his way into realization and the conversation. "Are you telling me there was weed in those brownies I just ate?"

Josh and Shem paused in their bickering and faced Ryan with equally frightened looks on their faces.

"Um, yes, well technically it's hash." Shem spoke to the floor instead of Ryan's face.

"Oh."

That one syllable was all Ryan could manage before he broke into fits of giggles. Shem knew he shouldn't even be smiling, especially since he was to blame for Ryan's current state, but laughter was something he could never resist and he gave in. Only Josh remained suitably terrified about the situation the three of them were in.

"No, no, this is not funny!" he cried, trying to restore some order.

Ryan and Shem only laughed harder at his obvious fear.

"Come on, this is a little funny." Ryan said, once he was able to speak again.

"Oh yeah, it's hysterical. We got a cop stoned." Josh ran a hand through his hair impatiently. "This is not good."

Ryan snorted. "I couldn't arrest you if I wanted to. I lost more than my girlfriend, remember?"

"That's right. Ryan's a civilian now aren't you?" Shem quickly thought better of the way he'd worded his statement. "I mean, just for now." He placed a hand on Ryan's shoulder. "You're totally gonna get your job and your girl back. I have all faith in you."

_I haven't met a friend in a long, long while  
They don't shake my hand but they check my style  
The modern world is a cold, cold world  
And all I meet are cold, cold girls  
_

Ryan placed a hand over Shem's and looked the other man in the eyes. "Thanks a lot man. You know, you're just like really nice. I mean it."

Shem blushed and looked away. "No man, I'm just me, it's nothing special." He drew his hand away and swatted at Ryan's shoulder.

"No really," Ryan was not going to let Shem short change himself. "You're just a really good person."

"Aw, thanks man." Shem hesitated for a few seconds and then threw his arms open for a hug.

Ryan didn't hesitate in his reciprocation. "Come here you."

Josh watched his best friend and the guy he made bagels for embrace and realized that he was clearly the only person in the room with any sense left. "Uh, I hate to break up this tender, and not to mention homoerotic moment, but do you understand what's going on right now?" His question was addressed mostly to Ryan.

"Yeah," Ryan stated after releasing Shem. His voice became eerily calm "I do. I accidentally ate special brownies. Or, excuse me I accidentally ate special brownies after you two showed up uninvited at my door." He noticed the way Shem's face fell. "Not that the sentiment isn't appreciated mind you." Shem's smile returned. "But, the fact remains I planned none of this. And, with the way my life is going lately I have to laugh at this. It's either that or I have a melt down. Pick which one you want to witness."

Josh chose quickly. "Not the meltdown."

"Great!" Ryan rubbed his hands together as if trying to get warm. "Now that we've settled that…I'm going to need to find something to do with my hands."

Josh finally relented and allowed himself to laugh at Ryan's antics. "So you're that kind of stoner hey? One puff and you're remodeling the house."

Ryan began to search the room for something to occupy himself with. "Well, it's just, I guess, I should be honest with you guys. I'm slightly OCD."

"How slight is slight? And again, should we be worried about the fall out?" Josh's relaxation was short lived.

"Oh, it's you know, controllable. Plus, it's not really the issue here." Ryan paused in explaining so that he could pull a Playstation out from the shelving his entertainment system was housed in. "I used to be in a band."

"Cool!" Shem cried.

"Uh, okay, but what does that have to do with your need for manual stimulation?" Josh frowned at his question. "Forget I just said manual stimulation."

"Too late," Ryan quipped from under the television where he was connecting cables and plugs. He fiddled with the game console for a few seconds before standing back up. "Gentlemen, I give you manual stimulation, well and I guess visual too. And, I have to employ my hands cause when I used to get high I was in a band, so this feels weird without any drum sticks or my sax."

Josh's jaw nearly hit the floor. "Excuse me? Stoner say what? When you used to get high? You're a freaking cop."

Ryan unwound a cord from around one his controllers. "Yeah, and I used to be a Biochem major in a liberal North Eastern university who played in a reggae band."

"Bullshit!" Josh couldn't believe what he was hearing.

"Awesome!" Shem was elated by what he was hearing.

"Alright, I'm not being totally truthful," Ryan conceded.

"I knew it," Josh said.

"We did ska too, and jazz, but we weren't too good at jazz, we just thought we were." Ryan said with a confessional tone.

"Wait," Josh was high, but he wasn't stupid. "If you were in a reggae band, and doing Biochem, what the hell made you want to become a cop?"

Ryan's face instantly darkened and he fingered the controller slowly. "Someone I loved was murdered. It happened my first year in grad school." He shut his eyes momentarily against the memory. "They never caught the guy who did it, so it," He wondered if he could say the words pain and anger out loud. He tried, but found he couldn't "It never stops, well, it just never stops. I became a criminalist to make sure no one else has to deal with that…to make sure there's always follow through."

Shem was heart broken, and he could tell there was more to the story, more emotions just under the surface that Ryan wasn't expressing, maybe even hadn't dealt with yet. It was against Shem's nature to let darkness fester so he geared himself up to ask the question he knew needed asking, even if it hurt.

Josh could tell Shem was not about to let sleeping dogs lie, but he suspected from the look on Ryan's face these particular dogs were not sleeping, so much as they were foaming at the mouth while straining against their restraints. Now was not the time for Shem to ask the question that Josh knew was coming next.

"So, who-

Shem stopped when he felt Josh's hand on his shoulder. The grip was just painful enough to convey an unspoken warning. It came just in time. The sound of Shem's voice had caused Ryan to look up and meet the smaller man's eyes. His gaze was so cold, so altered that Shem instantly reworded his question.

"What was the name of your band?"

Ryan's eyes cleared and he seemed to recover his jovial mood. "You don't even want to know. It was the worst play on words ever."

Josh made an audible sound of relief as the tension in the room seemed to defuse. "Come on man, it couldn't have been that bad."

Okay, but before I tell you keep in mind that we were nineteen and playing reggae music," Ryan blushed a little before mumbling the band's name.

"What?" Shem made a face. "Did you say Unlimited Spread?"

"No!" Ryan cried. He was mortified anyone would think he was in a band with such a silly name. "We were called Unleavened Dread. Get it?" Josh and Shem just exchanged an uncertain look between them. "Like unleavened bread, but we replaced it with dread. You know, for the reggae part."

Josh had a huge grin on his face. "Oh, we get it. It's just you know, if you haven't got anything good to say, yadda, yadda, yadda."

"It's not that bad of a name!" Ryan said defensively.

"No, it's good. I like it. Unleavened Dread. I bet you guys were good," Shem said, ever the hopeful peace maker.

Ryan shrugged. "Well, we were no Matisyahu, I'll say that much. It was pretty much just for fun, and you know, to get chicks."

Josh shrugged right back. "Naturally. There's only one reason men, well straight men, start a band."

All three men paused to acknowledge the truth of the statement, but none of them would voice the shared thought running through their heads.

Finally Josh broke the silence. "Well, I'm just gonna say it, for the pussy."

Shem's eyes widened and his hands covered his mouth in shock. He dissolved into mortified laughter. "Don't call it hat!" His voice was muffled by his hands.

"Oh, please," Josh punched him on the shoulder. "What do you call it? A flower?"

"No!" Shem turned red. "I call it a vagina like the rest of the world."

"Gah!" Josh had covered his ears at the mention of the V-word. "Never use that word in my presence."

"What?" Shem crossed his arm. "That's the correct term, va-gin-a."

Josh looked pained and was about to protest further against the use of the word that he dared not speak when someone began to knock on Ryan's door.

"Huh?" Ryan was startled by the rhythmic pounding. "Oh, hold on, I gotta get that. It'll be my friend Darrell." He rushed to reassure the other two whether they needed it or not. "Don't worry, you'll like him."

Ryan walked over to the door and yanked it open. Darrell stood in the doorway in a clean pair of jeans and a t-shirt. Ryan had never seen the man in anything but his uniform. A cowboy hat, boots and a case of beer completed Darrell's look.

"Hey man," Ryan held out his hand in greeting. "Come on in."

Darrell stepped inside and placed the beer on the floor. He stood up and surveyed the room and noticed Shem and Josh for the first time. "I didn't realize you had company."

"Oh," Ryan hoped Darrell wasn't offended. He didn't really know if his co-worker expected tonight to be just the two of them. "We were, uh, well, we were," he couldn't say having tea and cookies.

"We were talking about pussy." Josh said offering Darrell his hand to shake. "And for the record are you a cop too?"

"No, I'm not a cop, far from it son." Darrell took Josh's hand. "And, please don't let me interrupt you're conversation."

"Josh Goldberg."

"Darrell Henderson." Darrell released Josh's hand and turned to Shem. "And you are?"

Shem was a little thrown off by Darrell's entrance and his cowboy hat, so he was unable to answer at first.

"That's Shem, Shem Lowenstein, we work together." Josh filled in the blanks left by Shem's momentary shyness. "And just so you know, Ryan's high."

Darrell's eyes bugged out and he turned to face Ryan. "What the fuck man? It's always the quiet ones isn't it?"

Ryan sighed and pinched his nose between his thumb and index finger. "It was an accident."

Darrell guffawed. "Yeah, that's original Officer. Did you get that line from someone you arrested?"

"No," Ryan indicated to Shem and Josh. "Those two hooligans brought special brownies over and I ate them without knowing about the secret ingredient."

Shem finally found his voice. "We, I, didn't know they were special brownies when I gave them to him. It really isn't his fault, or mine, or anyone's really."

Darrell winked at Shem. "No harm done anyways, hey boys? The plan for tonight was to get him on the go. So, who wants a beer?"

Josh raised his hand. "I'll take one over here."

"Right on," Darrell cracked open a bottle and passed it to Josh. He looked at Ryan. "I like the way this man thinks."

Ryan rolled his eyes and accepted a beer from Darrell. "I don't doubt it."

Darrell cracked open a final beer and held it out towards Shem. "And you sir? Are you drinking with us?"

Shem hesitated, and then he smiled. Josh liked the man, so that meant he had to be okay. "Yeah, sure, thanks." He reached for the proffered bottle.

"Think nuthin' of it," Darrell said tipping his hat. "So, what are we gettin' up to tonight gentlemen?" He addressed the question to all the company assembled.

Ryan played with the label on his beer. "I don't want to be a downer or anything-

"Can you be after eating special brownies?" Darrell asked interrupting him.

"Hardy har har," Ryan continued his previous statement. "I don't want to be a downer, but I don't think I can go outside like this. I mean, not just because this is a little freaky after so many years of abstinence, but also with my luck this is the night I run into someone I used to work with, or get arrested or something equally as awful. And, I think, I might be getting in inevitable paranoia."

"No kidding." Josh stated. "But hey, I'm not gonna make you do anything you don't want to do seeing as I'm sort of responsible for your paranoia."

Darrell smiled at Ryan. "I'm up for just hanging out. It doesn't bother me. And, if I might make a suggestion on your state of mind? I find it works out best if you don't fight it. Just relax, there's nothing we can do about it now, unless maybe we find a way to make you upchuck them brownies."

"Too late," Ryan replied. "The thought crossed my mind, but it was an hour or more from ingestion to realization. Plus, it's obviously in my blood stream. Fuck, it made it to the synapses' before you even got here."

Darrell found this endlessly amusing. He figured they didn't really need to go out. The sight of his straight laced workmate on drugs was entertainment enough.

"But," Ryan continued. "I do think we definitely need some music, and I'm thinking, and Darrell if you're not up for this just say the word, a Mortal Kombat tournament might be in order."

Josh's eyes lit up at the mention of Mortal Kombat. "Dude, you had me at music."

Darrell shrugged in agreement. "I'm not gonna lie to you fellas, I'm not the greatest at these video game things, but I have a strategy that seemed to work fine in the arcade when I was a kid." He put down his beer and mimed playing with a joystick. "Just bang on all the buttons really fast till it does some kind of kick ass combination."

Ryan laughed. "Well, it's not exactly what I'd term a strategy, since the word implies detailed planning, not randomly slapping buttons, but sure, it'll probably work eventually."

"Awesome," Josh moved towards the entertainment center. "I assume this is all ready to go?" He asked indicating to the Playstation.

"Ready and able," Ryan replied. "I could set that thing up blindfolded with one hand tied behind my back."

"Great." Josh turned on the T.V. and pressed power on the console. He waited for the game's opening credits before picking up a controller and backing up towards the couch. "So, all I wanna know is; who's coming with me?" He did his best Jerry Maguire.

Ryan looked at Shem and Darrell. Neither of them seemed to be jumping at the chance. "Listen guys, you're the guests, so by rights you should go first. But if neither of you are gonna speak for it I'm getting in there."

Darrell chuckled and sat on the recliner next to the couch. "You go right ahead man. I'll play eventually. This is just part of my strategy; step one, lull them into a false sense of security before going in for the kill."

"Right," Ryan said in a tone that suggested he was less than convinced. He sat down next to Josh and accepted a second controller when it was handed to him. He was about to start punching in codes to start the game when he noticed Shem was still standing somewhat off to the side with his beer. "Uh, Shem man, do you want to play? Can I get you anything?"

"No, that's okay, I don't really play those things," Shem said in a quiet voice. "They're kind of violent don't you think?"

Darrell looked backwards over the recliner at Shem. "No kidding hey?"

"Maybe I could just handle the music," Shem suggested. "You said we should have some tunes. Where would I find the stereo?"

"Oh, right, sorry, it slipped my mind." Darrell chortled at Ryan's comment. Ryan just shot him a look and moved towards the shelves surrounding his television. "Okay, the stereo is here on the right." He opened up a cupboard to reveal a CD player. "The CD's are here." He crossed in front of the television and opened the left side of the center to reveal rows and rows of CD's in alphabetical order.

Shem's eyes popped. The shelving took up one entire side of the apartment, and asides from the television and the stereo the entire thing seem devoted to Ryan's music collection.

"Is that it?" He asked in an awestruck voice.

"Well that's all the discs," Ryan replied. "The vinyl is in the hallway back there." He pointed a thumb towards the back of the apartment where his bathroom and bedroom were located. "Here I'll just show you it's probably easier."

Shem followed Ryan into the small archway that separated the kitchen and living room from the bedroom and bathroom. He watched as Ryan turned himself sideways to make it through the small space. When it was his turn to pass through Shem realized that the small space was made even tinier by the shelves Ryan had put up on either side of the archway. They went from floor to ceiling and were filled with vinyl albums. Shem stopped and marveled at the sight.

"There's more down this way."

Ryan's voice startled Shem out of his revelry and he turned the corner to be faced with even more floor to ceiling shelves, all crammed with records. The collection ran the entire length of the hallway on both sides.

"It's all labeled." Ryan indicated to the strips of tape stuck on each shelf. The letters of the alphabet were marked on each one in sharpie. Shem was currently standing in front of D-E. "And, I'm not trying to be a dick, but if you could put stuff back where you found it that would be great. But help yourself. The record player is on the shelf under the stereo. Take a few minutes and pick something. I'll set up the stereo."

Shem flattened himself against the records to let Ryan pass him on the way back out to the living room. He stayed to gape for a few more moments then he raced back into the living room.

"You have to see this!" He cried to Josh and Darrell. "It's better than a record shop in there!"

"Later," Josh said waving a hand in dismissal at Shem. "I wanna get my kill on."

Darrell flipped his long legs off the recliner. "I think I'll take a gander." Music interested him far more than video games. He'd played them at the local arcade as a child, but his parent's income had never allowed him to own a personal console so the appeal had faded after thirteen. "You coming with?" He asked Shem.

The thought of rummaging through the records quickly made Shem forget any of his earlier shyness with regards to Darrell. "Yes, but first let me just pick something out from the discs to get us started." He walked over to the entertainment center and began scanning the discs. He pointed a finger at them as he passed his eyes over the titles.

Ryan watched his progress. "Just go with whatever hits you man or you'll be there forever."

Shem made a small sound of understanding but didn't immediately pick anything. Several minutes later, after taking several discs out and deciding against them he crossed to the stereo and slid his choice in. The opening song on Modest Mouse's, Good News For People Who Like Bad News, filtered out of the speakers on the floor.

"I don't know why, but I think this is appropriate." Shem stated and adjusted the volume.

"Nice." Ryan gave his approval.

Josh offered an absent- minded thumbs up as he concentrated on the game he and Ryan had just started playing. "By the way dude," he said to Ryan. "I'm totally gonna pull your spine out just so you know."

"Oh, we'll see who gets to finish who my friend." Ryan's tongue was poking out of his mouth slightly on one side as it was wont to do when he concentrated on something intensely. His fingers moved quickly over the buttons on his controller. "I think you should know I've spent a lot, some would say too much time, playing this game."

"Challenge!" Josh cried in a bad French accent.

Shem just rolled his eyes and watched as Ryan and Josh became engrossed with the game in front of them. Their faces took on a distant and drone like expression that Shem associated with the soul sucking properties video games possessed. They were artificial constructs that distracted their victims from the natural and spiritual worlds. Shem might enjoy the occasional hallucinogen, but even then he strove to be as present as possible in his life, and the world Hashem had provided for him to live it out in. With a shake of his head he turned and walked back towards Darrell and the records.

_And it's always the same  
We all just turn away  
We are stealing from ourselves  
We are feeding off ourselves  
But we were born in the flames  
We need a cool breeze and a summer rain  
We are stealing from ourselves_

Shem found Darrell in the back hallway standing in front of the L-M section. He was holding a copy of Led Zeppelin's self titled debut.

"Do you think this is an original?" Darrell asked holding the album up at eye level.

Shem took in the sight in front of him. Darrell's face was completely obscured by the record. His hat looked as if it was perched on top of the Zeppelin on the cover, and underneath was all lanky cowboy.

"I don't think so," Shem replied nervously. "I mean it would be worth a fortune now right? Or it would've been plenty expensive to buy."

Darrell placed the album back on the shelf. "Maybe. Maybe not. I find things only have the value people give them. Other than that they're just things. Could be it was a gift, or he found someone who was willing to sell, but didn't know the value of what they had. Might be the person knew well enough, but didn't think it really was worth that much."

Shem smiled and gathered his hair into a ponytail. "Yeah, maybe." He secured it with one of the many bracelets and bands he wore around his wrists. "But if we tried to figure out all the stories behind all these records we'd be here for awhile."

Darrell watched the smaller man fuss with his hair. He was slim, and all of his features seemed as if they met at a sharp point. He wasn't ugly, far from it, but he wasn't handsome either. He was more like Ryan's china which he'd been admiring earlier; delicate and beautiful. Darrell could sense Shem's skittishness and figured it had more to do with his presence than anyone else's. Shem was clearly friends with the tubby one, Josh, and he doubted the man was afraid of Ryan, or being in his home.

He tested the waters. "Yeah, wouldn't we though. Might take weeks." Shem's eyes grew large. Gypsy eyes, Darrell thought, but he shook that off to continue. "So, where would you start?"

"Huh?" Shem was still stuck on the idea of him and Darrell, alone, for weeks with the records.

Darrell indicated to the shelves surrounding them. "Which one, which record would you want to find out about first?"

"Oh," Shem smiled at his own display of scatter brains. "Um, well, let's see," He spun around in the small space. "See, it's not just about how Ryan got it, right? Not unless he's the original owner. And he's probably not for most of these. So, we'd also want to know who he got it from, how they got it, and how the person before them got it and so on. That would be the real story."

Darrell was delighted. "Yeah, that's right. But we'll probably never know all that stuff, even if Ryan knows the previous owner that's just one more person."

Shem looked crestfallen. "I know," He reached for one of the albums in front of Darrell in the L's. "But we could imagine it." He made a grab for Lou Reed's Transformer, but the shelf was just out of reach.

Darrell watched as Shem missed on his first attempt to retrieve the record. "Which one do you want?" He tried to assist the shorter man.

"S'okay…I got it." Shem said between hops. "Lou Reed. Transformers. 1973. Imagine the hands it has past through. It's got one of my favourite tunes on it." He tried to jump a little higher and absent mindedly began singing the song. "Holly came from Miami, F.L.A.," hop. "Hitch-hiked her way across the U.S.A," another missed attempt.

Darrell could take it no longer and reached out for the album just as Shem finally completed the first verse and reached the album. Their hands connected and they both froze. Seconds past as the two men stared at each other trying to discern just what was going on.

Shem was the first to break the silence. A slow smile spread over his face. "She says, hey babe take a walk on the wild side. Said hey honey, take a walk on the wild side."

Darrell smiled his own lazy smile in return. A walk on the wild side indeed, after all why else does a cow boy move to South Beach?

_And the coloured girls go doo, doo, doo, doo, doo, doo, doo, doo, doo, doo, doo, doo…_

Back in the living room Ryan and Josh were oblivious to everything but the game in front of them. They played for at least an hour before Ryan noticed two things. First, he was hungry, really hungry, and second, he had no idea where Shem and Darrell were. He was certain they'd only gone to pick out some more music to listen to, but that must have been over an hour ago as the Modest Mouse disc had finished, and was now beginning to loop. He paused the game and rubbed his tired eyes.

Josh's protests were immediate. "Hey! What's up? I was about to turn into a dragon and eat you man."

"You can eat me later. I'm starving we have to get some food." Ryan looked around his apartment as if wishing was just going to make food magically appear. He scratched his chest. "Where the hell are Shem and Darrell?"

Josh snorted. "You know Shem. He's high and in vinyl heaven. He's probably giving your man Darrell a history lesson on every single record you've got back there. You should probably go rescue him. I mean I love Shem, but sometimes people don't know how to take him."

"Yeah," Ryan replied absently. "But first, what are we gonna do about this no food situation? Because I'm hungry as balls."

Josh laughed. "And that would be the hash talking. My advice? Order pizza."

Ryan raised an eyebrow. "Good idea. And, I just had another good idea," He raised a finger as if discovering electricity, and then pointed it at Josh. "You are going to pay for said pizza as you are responsible for my munchies."

"It's the least I can do," Josh said shrugging like a guilty five year old.

Ryan got up and searched the living room for his cordless phone. He then remembered he had his cell in his pocket. "So, what do you want on it? Cause right now I'll eat anything. Choosy they name is not Ryan."

Josh just waved a hand dismissively at him. "Do I look like I discriminate against any food stuff? Just no ham, you know, on account of kosher and Shem being a vegetarian."

"Kosher?" Ryan said the word like it was an insult. "You don't know what you're missing and besides pepperoni with cheese isn't kosher."

"I know." Josh looked chastened. "I'm just trying not to be the world's worst Jew. I figure if I don't eat ham it at least somewhat makes up for my other less than kosher food choices."

"Pshaw," Ryan began to dial his local pizza joint. "As long as I'm around dude you can't ever be the worst Jew. I'm gonna see what the others want. I'm guessing one veggie, one meat, but no ham." He began to wander towards his record collection where he presumed Shem had Darrell cornered and was talking his ears off about music.

What Ryan saw next caused him to drop his cell phone, and if the pizza lady hadn't been asking for his order he might have screamed. And it would've sounded something like, "Boys making out in my hallway!". Which is a pretty tall order for a pizza joint to fill, even in Miami.

Shem had indeed cornered Darrell, or maybe it was vice versa, Ryan really couldn't tell. But they were most definitely not talking about music. There was no way ones' mouth could be used for speech and the kind of tonsil hockey the men were playing. _**Up against my records!**_ Ryan said a silent prayer for sections L-M , N-O, and P-R (there just aren't a lot of things that start with Q).

Ryan backed away from the sight and resisted any urge he had to make noise. He didn't want to alert Shem and Darrell to his presence. No sense embarrassing his friends, after all it was none of his business, even if they were making out amongst his albums. The albums he treated like his children, if he had had hundreds of children.

"_You want pizza or not crazy person?!"_

The disembodied voice of Mrs. Chan from Chan's Asian and Pizza was yelling at him from his cell. He picked it up of the floor and walked quickly back to the living room.

"Yes!" Ryan hated how shrill his voice sounded at that moment. "Yes, we want pizza. Um, one pepperoni and cheese with green peppers and mushrooms, and one veggie. Both extra large, please and thank you."

He heard and exasperated sigh on the other end of the line. "Where you want it delivered hey? I don't read minds!"

God he hated that this was ruining his relationship with the Chans. They'd been so good to him in the past. "Sorry Ma'am. Um, Building 1773, North East 2nd Avenue, third floor, apartment five."

"Oh it's you!" Mrs. Chan exclaimed. Ryan could hear her calling to her husband. "S'okay, just the guy at 1773 with crazy girlfriend. You know, one who kissed you for bringing extra order of crispy tofu!"

Ryan covered his eyes and sighed. Valera loved crispy tofu. There wasn't much she wouldn't do for the deep fried meat substitute. "Yes, that's right Mrs. Chan. Thanks a lot for the pizza. We'll be waiting."

He disconnected the call and assessed the situation. Pizza was on its way so there would be food, and that was good. There would be no crispy tofu included, nor would Valera be doing kinky things to his person in return for crispy tofu, and that was not so good. Shem and Darrell however, appeared to be showing each other a very good time in return for nothing, well, asides from a shared good time, and that was, well, Ryan wasn't sure what that was, but it was happening. He looked at Josh who was now entertaining himself with a solo mission on the Playstation. Ryan wondered if he knew that Shem liked to make out with cow boys. Surely he did, Josh was Shem's best friend. But what if he didn't? Ryan decided he was not going to deal with that possibility.

He cleared his throat and tired to make as much noise as possible while walking back in the direction of his bedroom. "Hey you guys!" He heard scuffling. He debated walking around the corner. _**Please don't let them be naked against my records**_. "Hey! I ordered pizza!"

Shem was the first one around the corner. He nearly knocked Ryan over upon entry to the living room. "Pizza! Dude that's great! But you got some veggie right? Cause I don't eat meat."

Ryan was gobsmacked, and as such his brain-mouth filter stopped working. "Yeah I did. Because funny thing is, Josh said you don't eat sausage."

Shem didn't even register the obvious double entendre. "Yeah, no," he made a face. "That stuff's gross. I don't even want to touch it."

Ryan held back from retorting that Shem seemed to have no problem with meat when it was attached to a six foot two cowboy. Speaking of tall cow boys, Ryan turned and stared hard at Darrell. He too seemed to take no notice of Ryan's distress and simply sat back down on the recliner nonchalantly, legs and arms akimbo.

Darrell reached for another beer out of his abandoned twelve case. "Beer and pizza. Best combo ever."

Ryan simply nodded and tried to convey with his eyes to Darrell that he not only knew what had been going on in the hallway, but that he blamed his co-worker for it. Shem, Ryan figured was probably innocent in all matters, despite the accidental drugging and the making out. But Darrell took no notice of Ryan's mind signals and made conversation with Josh.

While the others conversed Ryan stood apart from the group and tried to work things out in his head. He was high, or at least somewhat, the munchies might indicate that he was on the other side of it and about to come out the sober end. He hoped so because he needed his wits about him to understand the night's revelations. Josh and Shem had come over to help him devise a plan to get Valera back, but they'd only succeeded in mistakenly drugging him. Darrell had come over to "get him on the go", but it was definitely Shem who had caught that ride. Ryan paused and wondered if that's what Darrell had had in mind for him…no of course not, he could hear Valera now, "Stop being so heterosexist Ryan".

A sharp rap at the door interrupted his thoughts. Ryan shook his head and walked over to open it. Mr. Chan stood in his doorway holding two pizza boxes in his left hand, and an order of crispy tofu in his right. There was an expectant look on his face.

"Uh hey," Ryan took the boxes from Mr. Chan as Josh paid the man. He noticed the tofu. "Mr. Chan? We didn't order any tofu."

Mr. Chan looked hopefully around the room. "I bring it for the lady. Free of charge. Where is she? I know she loves her crispy tofu."

Ryan couldn't believe it. Did every man he purchased food from want to make out with Valera? First it was Josh and now Mr. Chan. "The lady isn't here." Ryan said tartly.

Mr. Chan's face fell. "Oh well. You keep the tofu." He held it out to Ryan.

"Did I hear crispy tofu?" Shem asked leaping up from the sofa. He ran to Mr. Chan and took the take out box from the older man's outstretched hands. "Thanks a lot! I love crispy tofu."

Ryan spent several horrifying seconds wondering if Shem was going to make like Valera and kiss Mr. Chan. He could put nothing past the hippy now. But Shem just thanked Mr. Chan again and returned to the sofa with his bounty. Ryan ensured everything was paid in full and then let Mr. Chan out after exchanging the usual formalities.

Josh and Darrell were already tearing into the pepperoni pizza and Shem was happily devouring his tofu. Ryan felt his stomach roll and heard the noisy complaint it made. He abandoned all further thoughts about his friends' sexuality in favour of stuffing as much pizza as he could in his mouth before Josh and Darrell ate it all.

The four men ate and made small talk much like Josh, Shem and Ryan had done before Darrell's arrival. Ryan began to feel drowsy as Darrell plied him with beer. Each slice of pizza seemed to justify the opening of another bottle. Once the pizza was annihilated they lounged on Ryan's floor drinking and talking about everything and nothing, mostly nothing, because the conversation never once veered towards an opening for Ryan to bellow, "What the hell man? Just what the hell?", at Shem or Darrell. By the end of the beer Ryan was fighting to keep his eyes open and his company could tell he was struggling.

Darrell took off his hat and placed it on Ryan's head. It fell over his eyes immediately.

"Hey Droopy Dog," Darrell said laughing at the picture Ryan made. "I think it's time you crawled off to barn to sleep."

Ryan opened one eye and peered out from under the brim. "Don't own a barn, just a bed."

Darrell exchanged a look with Josh and Shem. "That'll do then." He reached for his hat and placed it back on his head.

Then Darrell took Ryan's beer from him and put it on the coffee table. Without another word Darrell hoisted Ryan up and over his shoulder and started towards the bedroom.

"Whoa, whoa, wait!" Ryan was down, but he wasn't out and after what he saw tonight he was a little worried about where this was leading. He tried to struggle in Darrell's grasp. "No one carries me. Well, except for Eric," Darrell paused and Ryan could tell he was probably staring at him the same way Josh and Shem were, albeit they were upside down from his vantage point. "He's my partner at work, and he only carried me cause I got shot in the eye. With a nail gun. That's the only reason why."

Darrell let out a low whistle. "Shot in the eye with a nail gun? Son, you never told me about that."

Shem was immediately in front of him, bending down to look at his face. "But you're okay right? Your eye, it's okay?"

Shem followed Darrell into the bedroom and watched as the larger man heaved Ryan onto his bed. "But you're okay?" he asked again.

Ryan rolled over to face Shem. "Yes Shem I'm fine. It was a year and a half ago. I'm totally fine, my eye's fine, and everything's fine. Sometimes I wear glasses with a special lens to strengthen the muscle, but other than that, it's fine."

Josh stood in the doorway. "Man we can't leave till you tell us the story."

"Hey!" Darrell looked at Josh sternly. "The man needs to rest." He reached for Ryan's belt buckle.

Ryan squirmed away in panic. "Hey yourself!"

Darrell gave him the kind of look a frustrated parent gives a fussy toddler. "Listen, either you do it, or I do it, but the pants are coming off and you are going to sleep."

"I can do it myself." Ryan mumbled while fighting with his jeans. Once he was successfully liberated from his pants he got under his covers.

"Come on," Josh whined. "It doesn't have to be a play by play, but he can't tell us he got shot in the eye with a nail gun and just leave us hanging."

Darrell relented. "Alright," He turned to Ryan. "Give him the Coles Notes version you hear?"

So, the night ended as bizarrely as it had started with Ryan sitting in his bed and the other three gathered round him. And like some reverse version of the bed time story Ryan began to tell them all about how he got shot in the eye with a nail gun. It wasn't the Berenstain Bears, but it kept them rapt. When he finished they all congratulated him on having courage in the line of fire and Shem hung back and requested another hug. He seemed so earnest and thankful that there was truly no lasting damage that Ryan let himself be embraced, shenanigans amongst the records be damned. Then all three had left him alone after turning out the light and promising to lock up.

The last thing Ryan heard before falling asleep was the soft sounds his three friends made while cleaning up the living room. Darrell had suggested they do it before they left because he knew from work that Ryan liked things neat. So they tidied, and they locked up as promised, but Ryan was aware of none of it.

_Oh the Milky Way has gone a little sour  
The leaves dried and the flower fell away_

_Want to leave but I've got to stay  
And I'm wondering more everyday  
Montreal to Hong Kong  
Where have all the good people gone?  
Traffic jam but I'm on the shoulder  
Took ten cops to pull me over  
Bangkok to Babylon  
Where have all the good people gone?  
_

And he stayed unaware until the wee hours of the morning when once again he was shocked awake after sensing a presence.

"You know I have to say officer, the hashish, I'm surprised." Lenny Bruce was once again sitting on the end of his bed, and he looked very amused. "But, it's a pleasant surprise. Speaking of pleasant surprises, how about those friends of yours? Used to be a man, well men, not much of a scandal if he's doing it on his own, we all do that, straight or gay, could get arrested for that sort of behaviour. Yes the times, they have changed."

Ryan covered his face with his hands. "Not this again."

* I think Slovenia, because you guys always read my stories!

_Oh yes, this again…TBC in which we learn the identity of the person Ryan loved who was murdered…._


	6. Chapter 6

Disclaimer: I own nothing related to CSI: Miami. Duh.

A/N: Lyrics and Title taken from Hawksley Workman's song "Get Addicted" found on the album entitled "Lover/Fighter". The quotes are Lenny Bruce's creations.

Chapter 6: People Get Addicted

"_All my humor is based upon destruction and despair. If the whole world were tranquil, without disease and violence, I'd be standing on the breadline right in back of J. Edgar Hoover."_

"_If you can take the hot lead enema, then you can cast the first stone."_

_-Lenny Bruce_

_Ah, people get addicted, it's a problem around here  
And I'm afflicted  
And the reports all say  
Something I guessed I'd have chosen not to listen  
Just a busy by the bush, just a puking and a pissing  
Got the whiskey in my blood and hell dammit I'm in love  
And I'm addicted  
C'mon everybody, get addicted_

_And I'm guilty, baby I'm so guilty  
Just for being born, being white, wrong or right, back and forth  
For the poor, for a ball, for the deep or for our soul  
I'm addicted, and I'm ready to kill for it  
'Cause I'm addicted_

Ryan covered his face with his hands. "Not this again."

"Yes this again," Lenny lit a cigarette and stretched out across Ryan's bed. "What did I tell you about this whole gig? I come in the night, when you're asleep, like Santy Claus, or your parents when they're trying to do it quietly so as not to wake you up."

Ryan groaned mournfully when the inevitable mental image of his parents in the midst of coitus swam into his head. "I'm not fit for this right now. It's been a long night."

"No kidding Officer. Tell me what's the quality of the wacky baccy here in Miami these days? It's been awhile since I've sampled it."

"Shut up." Ryan put his hands over his ears. "Shut up, shut up, shut up. You're not here. You don't show up cause it's night, or cause I need spiritual guidance, you're here cause I drank too much wine with Poppy and was drugged by the Jewish version of Cheech and Chong."

Lenny sat up and tossed his cigarette aside angrily. It, like the one before, disappeared with tiny popping sound. "Hey! Hey you listen to me kid. I didn't make you drink that wine, or feed you those brownies. You dig? How was I to know when they sent me down here you'd start going through your experimental phase?" He stood up and paced to the window. "And if you won't believe me, there's someone who wants to talk to you that you might trust a bit more."

Ryan rolled his eyes. "Who? Is my old therapist Dr. Stein about to appear to me? Because I heard he kicked it a few years back."

"No. Not Dr. Stein," Lenny peered briefly over his shoulder at Ryan before turning back to the window. "And, I wouldn't take such a disparaging tone when mentioning the good doctor if I were you. If it wasn't for him you'd still taking three turns around the room before leaving it and sleeping on the floor so you don't muss up your bed."

The color drained from Ryan's face at this remark. He'd told everyone he was close to in Miami that he was kind of OCD, but he'd never told any of them, not even Maxine, just how OCD he used to be. "How do you know about that?" He asked desperately. "If you're real and not from my head how do you know about that? You said you can't read minds."

"I can't kid."

"Then how do you know?"

"She told me."

Ryan was confused, confused and exposed. "Who told you? Who's she?"

Lenny turned around and leaned back on the window with his arms crossed. The conversation was about to get much heavier and he needed something to brace himself against. Even the incorporeal need support now and again. "The person responsible for getting you help. You know who I mean. She came up tonight in conversation earlier tonight if I remember correctly."

A cold chill ran down Ryan's spine as realization struck. He knew who Lenny was talking about, but he also knew it was impossible. Lenny wasn't real, and he didn't actually come down from Heaven. There was no Heaven. There was no Heaven, and no Hell, so she wasn't in either with him. They didn't watch him and chat about his antics down here on Earth. She was just gone. Taken away, murdered and gone, just like all the bodies he saw every day. She was nothing but three cubic feet of bone, blood and meat. When the life was snuffed out of that all that was left of her was what she had been to him, and the people who loved her. Memories, that's all she was now, memories and agony.

Lenny noticed the change in Ryan's demeanor so he waited. He waited to see if the younger man would acknowledge his realization in any way. But he didn't. He just sat in his bed, cold and withdrawn, displaying the same face Shem had seen earlier. Her name hung between them unsaid but echoing. It wasn't in Lenny's nature to let anything go unsaid. On Earth as it is in Heaven, so in death he did exactly what he would have in life. He threw the words, no matter how painful they were, out into the open.

"You know, if we're going to make any progress here, we're going to have to deal with Janice."

Ryan's eyes widened and he jumped out of bed. It was one thing to dream that one of your heroes had come to help you confront your demons. It was another thing entirely when that dream took on a life of its own and poked at your deepest wounds. "Don't say that." It was half a command and half a plea.

Lenny raised an eyebrow. "Don't say what?"

Ryan advanced on him. He no longer cared if the man in front of him was real or not. He wouldn't let him use her, not for any purpose. "Don't say her name. You didn't know her."

Lenny stepped out of Ryan's path gracefully. "What? You don't want me to say what? Janice's name? I can't say Janice?" He stressed her name with each question like a teacher calling roll.

Ryan tried to reach for the man, to throttle him, but he couldn't. Like most dream figures Lenny remained just out of reach. The thing with no longer being subject to the laws of physics is that you get much more flexible.

"You don't get to say her name!" Ryan settled on pointing at Lenny if he couldn't touch him. "You don't get to talk about her. No one gets to talk about her to me like they know what it's like."

Lenny put up his hands in defense. "Alright, alright settle down Officer. What don't I know? What's it like?"

Ryan slumped onto his bed and put his face in his hands. He could feel the urge to cry coming on, and the wetness he felt on his hands led him to believe he might have already started. "I can't, I can't talk about this with you. This is insane."

Lenny stared at the obviously defeated man in front of him and turned his face to the sky. "Honestly, the things you ask of me." He shrugged his shoulders. He was about to break a lot of rules. Not that breaking the rules was unfamiliar territory for him. He'd broken lots of man's and God's rules in his time. He'd just never done it while being employed by the Creator. "Okay, okay so maybe you don't talk to me about it. You say I can't understand it. Well, she was there, she'd understand."

Ryan sobbed out loud but didn't look up from his hands. "She's dead! Don't you get it? She's gone. I can't talk to you, I can't talk to her. You're dead, she's dead and none of this is real. I'm just torturing myself as usual."

Lenny sighed and bent down next to Ryan. He placed a hand on the younger man's shoulder and rubbed. It took a lot of concentration to touch, so he kept his next statement short. "Alright, Toots I think we need you."

The first thing Ryan noticed was that Lenny was touching him. How could a ghost do that? The next thing he was aware of was the smell. A smell he'd known his whole life, but had forgotten in recent times had permeated the room. It was her scent. He'd know it anywhere. But, it couldn't be. He felt a cool breeze hit his forehead, and then he heard something he never expected to hear again.

"Hey Sweetness."

He looked up and there she was. Janice O'Rourke the woman who had practically raised him. Or rather, the woman his parents had hired to watch over him in his youngest years, but she'd done so much more for him, been so much more to him. Until the night a mad man had broken into her apartment and sliced her up and bled her out. He'd taken her life and most of Ryan's innocence that night. The police never identified the killer, all they knew was he was a serial and highly dangerous.

But right now she seemed alive and real. She looked just as she did in his earliest memories. Young and beautiful, her red hair falling down her back, and she was smiling at him, only for him. He could almost pretend that all of his life after the age of five had never happened. That it had all been a dream, and Janice, like always was here to wake him up, to fold him up in her arms and tell him it was just a nightmare, nothing more.

"Janice?" He wanted to reach for her but was unsure what would happen. Hell, he didn't know what _was_ happening.

Janice for her part was just as choked up. It had been so long since she'd seen him last. He was such a man now; a man with real, adult problems. But he still had the same eyes as the tiny baby his parent's had put in her arms at the interview, just to see how he'd react to her.

"Hi baby," It was the exact same thing she'd said to him that first day twenty-six years ago. "How are you doing?"

"Not good." Ryan admitted. "I miss you."

Janice could hold back no longer. She made every effort to be real enough to hold him. Then she lunged for him.

"Oh, Precious I miss you too." She enveloped him in the kind of hug she'd usually reserved for when he hurt himself playing, or more likely, when the other kids had hurt him while playing.

Lenny observed the reunion taking place in front of him and started to get worried. Janice was not sticking to the agreed upon script, which had gone something like this:

Lenny: I just want you to appear, tell him he needs to get over you, and to get the help he needs. And, I may not even need you to. I'm just saying if things go South, I might need an assist.

Janice: I want to see him. Can I see him?

Lenny (with increasing distress): Now listen. You're not even supposed to come with me. I could get in a lot of trouble here.

Janice: Let me see him.

Lenny (really agitated by this point): Look lady, what happened to you was horrible. Truly horrible, but you gotta work with me here. You only come out if I need you. And, you are brief and to the point about it. Understand?"

Janice: So I say what you want and I get to see him?

Lenny (somewhat softer): Yeah, you say what I tell you and you get to see him. I just need you to tell him it's time to deal with his anger and sadness over you, okay?

Janice (smiling sadly): Yeah okay, I want him to move on too. I can't bear the thought of me being the reason for his troubles. That wasn't my intention when I came into his life.

Lenny (polite, but don't tell anyone): Yeah well, none of it's your fault okay. You suffered enough to get here. No suffering now.

But Janice was not telling Ryan he needed to move on and get over her. She wasn't saying anything, just clinging to her former charge.

There are reasons why certain things are against the rules. Many people ascribe to the belief that a rule only gets developed after someone breaks it. Or more accurately, since you can't break a rule that hasn't been made, that they get made up in response to a stupid action on the part of someone, which makes the people in charge realize that action should be regulated. Lenny would never know if what occurred next was why the dead are not, under any circumstances, unless directed by Himself, to visit the living. But, he was pretty sure that bringing Janice with him was going to be counted by the higher ups as a dumb action on his part.

He reached out and nudged Janice, trying to get her to play her part. But, as soon as his hand made contact with her back he realized that she and Ryan were not going to pay him any attention. Neither of them were currently with him in Ryan's bedroom, instead they were both revisiting 1981. Unfortunately for Lenny, Janice had concentrated so hard on touching Ryan she'd actually gone right through so to speak to his inner self, which was laid bare after so much emotional upheaval. And, now Lenny was being pulled into their exchange of memories and emotions. He'd tried, but failed to remove his hand from Janice's back and was forced to watch as she and Ryan relived the good and bad parts of their shared story.

xxXxx

_Boston University, 1981_

Janice O'Rourke stood in front of an office door marked Dr. Leonard Wolfe. The door itself was cracked open just enough to encourage students to knock when they needed help, and also to afford the person inside privacy to think and write. Dr. Wolfe had taught her Introduction to Political Theory in the spring semester and she'd done well. So well, in fact, that he had told her she should be proud as not many undergrads achieved such grades in their first year. Janice had soaked up the praise, as Dr. Wolfe was not only her favorite professor, but he was also known to be quite the up and comer in political theory circles. The thought that anyone who was educated, from a big city, New York no less, and had such a reputation would notice her smarts had been more than she could hope for.

She came from a small New England town where everyone was Irish Catholic and content to be born, live and die in the same place. Janice had always wanted more. She liked her home town and she loved her family, but she used to watch the Mary Tyler Moore Show and read her aunts copies of Vogue and yearn. She wanted to be in a big city, more specifically New York City. She wanted lights, and cabs and pretty dresses. And, most of all, she wanted books, conversations and art. So she'd studied hard and worked a summer job every year from the age of thirteen till she graduated high school. Then she'd applied for university in Boston. It wasn't New York, but it was a first step towards her ultimate goal.

The only problem was all her babysitting money and malt shop pay cheques couldn't make university affordable, even with her meager, but admirable scholarship. She'd made it through the first year on bread and jam sandwiches and tenacity. In order to stay at school and finish though, she would need to supplement her income. Going home to work in a local diner had helped to increase her cash flow, but it had also pressed upon her that you really can't ever go home again. A year of big city life filled with new friends, learning, museums and restaurants had made her realize that home, while it would always be home, could also become a straight jacket if she stayed to long. She needed work, because she needed to stay in school, to stay in Boston, there was no other alternative.

The problem was she needed flexible work, the kind of work that wouldn't encroach too much on her studies. Boston was full of places to get part time work, but those places expected you to be willing and able whenever, wherever. There were too many other people looking to make it in the City who would work long hours for her to cut it at a restaurant or a shop. Plus, she had a sneaking suspicion that if she went to work in the kind of job that had the potential to become long term work the money would make it too tempting just to quit school altogether. This wouldn't do, she had to keep her eye on the prize even if it meant being severely poor now. The gains would be greater later if she finished university instead of becoming a shop girl.

She'd come back to Boston two weeks before the beginning of term to start her job hunt, but it proved rather fruitless until the day she was hanging about the Political Science department and overheard Dr. Wolfe talking to Dr. Bustin, the specialist on African politics, about his young family. Apparently, Dr. Wolfe's wife had given birth to their second child, a boy, in July, and while she was entitled to six months maternity leave, she was starting to go "stir crazy". It wasn't of course anything to do with the child, Dr. Wolfe had been quick to point out, it was just that his wife, Esther, was also an academic, and she longed to return to her work. She too was rapidly becoming known in her chosen field of Women's Studies. The seventies were over and it was a fruitful time in this newly born field. Esther did not, Dr. Wolfe explained, want to fall behind her peers.

Janice had absorbed the information and decided she was the answer to the Wolfe's, or more specifically, Mrs. Wolfe's problem and they were the answer to hers. She took a deep breath and knocked on the door in front of her. A beat passed before she heard the call that she should enter.

"Um, hi, Dr. Wolfe," Janice stuttered a little as she pushed open his door.

Leonard Wolfe looked up surprised to her. It was still a little early for undergraduates to be back on campus. But, he was always glad to see any of his students, provided he wasn't writing against a deadline. "Hello, Janice, it is Janice isn't it?"

"Yes Sir, it is," Janice cringed as she said "Sir". A number of her profs had admonished her for using "Sir" and "Miss" as it was too formal for the taste of academics bred in the seventies, but she couldn't help it. Catholic school died hard. "Um, Sir, Dr. Wolfe, I mean, I don't want you to think I was eavesdropping, but I was going to see Dr. Bustin the other day, to ask about maybe taking his second year course on Southern African politics and you were in his office. I heard you talking about your wife's wanting to go back to work, and how it was a struggle to find someone to leave the baby with. I know that must be hard Sir, I'm from a big family myself. But I was wondering, well, I need a job or I can't stay here, and I want to finish school. So I could maybe baby-sit for you. I have lots of references and lots of experience. I swear I'm really good with kids."

She nearly died as she said it all, and she was sure it came out in an incoherent rush but she'd done it. There was too much at stake not to take every chance she could.

It took Leonard a few moments to decipher what she was proposing, but once he did, and he had a good look at her, taking in her determined stance and her red hair and freckles he thought she just might be on to something. Things were okay but busy with him and Esther, as neither of them had formal, full time work. Academia had the benefit of flexible hours, but Esther needed time away from the kids, time for herself so she could read and write. Perhaps Janice was the answer. He knew she was a hard working student, and if she put half the effort into her job as she did her school work it would certainly help ease the burden at home.

"You know Janice, you might just be on to something," He indicated to the chair in front of his desk. "Why don't you sit down and we'll have a chat about your experience with kids and maybe look into scheduling issues. I wouldn't want your time with us to impede your studies in any way."

xxXxx

And for the most part working for the Wolfe's hadn't. In fact, Janice would always believe, and state to everyone she knew, that she had gained much more than a pay cheque the day she'd shown up at their Boston town house for an interview with Dr. Wolfe and his family.

She'd been nervous at first to meet Esther. The woman was a legend in her own time for managing to combine feminism with what some called an adherence to a rather conservative Jewish culture. Her story was made only more romantic by the fact she'd managed to marry one of the most secular and openly pro-Palestinian young Jewish scholars on the go. Janice was in awe of Esther's professional career and also worried that the woman would not want to trust her with her children. It didn't matter how much Leonard liked her, or how glowing her recommendations were if the mother and children would have no part of her. But, Esther had loved her, had been happy, "a young, smart girl will be here for our Rachel to look up to". Rachel for her part had been standoffish with Janice at first sight as she felt that at four years old, and about to start kindergarten she was far too old for a babysitter.

"I'm not a baby, so I don't need a babysitter," Rachel had told her after they were introduced. "But he is," She pointed at the sleeping boy in his cot. "So, I don't mind if you're here when I get home from school. Maybe we can play." She said the last part in a way that said it would only happen if she, Rachel, felt like being nice to Janice.

Janice had just smiled and been delighted at Rachel's obvious bid for independence.

"Well, I understand, you're clearly a very big girl." This made the child in front of her beam. "But, I do hope you'll have time some days to play because I really love playing Barbies, and none of my friends will play with them anymore."

Rachel's eyes lit up. Babysitter or not this was someone she could relate to. "You like Barbies? I love Barbies! But," Her face became sour. "I only have three because Mommy says they c'rate unreal 'spectations of women."

Janice bit back the urge to laugh out loud at a four year old repeating feminist dogma. "I guess she does have rather unreal measurements, but it's still fun to dress her up don't you think?"

Rachel nodded vigorously in agreement. She had what her mother called an, "unhealthy attachment to clothes and material goods". In the years to come Janice would sneak her old Barbies out of her bedroom back at her parent's house, and into Rachel's closet like some kind of Underground Railway for the most glamorous women in the world.

"And this," Leonard began interrupting the bonding between Janice and his daughter, "is Ryan. Your main charge so to speak." He gently lifted his sleeping son from the cot and brought him towards Janice.

Esther took her arm and led her towards the couch. "Here, sit down, take him, see how you both feel."

Janice thought it was all a bit New Age, but she acquiesced at sat down and held her arms out for the baby. As soon as his head touched the crook of her arm his eyes popped open. Janice bit her lip and waited, trying to tell if he was about screw up his face and wail, thus dashing all her hopes of viable employment. But, he seemed fine. His eyes, which were huge, like most babies, and a deep green, like his mother's just bore into hers for several long seconds. Janice felt a wave of emotions hit her and wondered if every woman felt like this when they held a baby. She smiled down at the infant in her arms and offered him her index finger to hold. Ryan immediately wrapped his tiny, but chubby fingers around it.

"Hi, Baby," she figured an introduction was in order. "I'm Janice. How are you?"

She was horrified when his response was a quivering chin, a red face and a loud cry. She tried to resist the urge to drop him or hand him back. Instead she cooed at him and tried to get him to stop. _Please, Please don't do this now baby I need a job_. She chanced a look at Esther and Leonard, expecting them to be glaring at her with pity or dissatisfaction. But they were just watching her. It was as if they expected her to determine what was wrong with the child. Janice panicked mildly at this thought, but tried to recall her previous experiences with younger siblings and neighbor kids.

"Um, okay, okay, you just woke up, I'd be a little upset to if my nap was interrupted, er, let's check that diaper." She put the baby over her shoulder and stuck a finger in the bottom of his onesie. The diaper was dry, on to option two. "Well, I guess at your age you're always hungry hey? Maybe you need to be fed?"

Esther clapped her hands together and came towards them. "Oh, see, she's perfect. And she's right, isn't she right _zeeskeit_?" Esther was clearly addressing the baby, not Janice. "I breast feed," now she was talking to Janice. "But, I also keep some pumped in bottles in the fridge of Leonard can feed him, and I thought you might like to today."

Janice wasn't sure if like was the word she'd use. "Uh, okay."

Esther made a few more cooing sounds at Ryan then rushed away towards what Janice guessed was the direction of the kitchen. She returned moments later with a bottle and handed it to the younger woman. Janice accepted it, took a deep breath and prayed to her God she got this right. Don't let me smack him in the face, please let him take the nipple, and for the love of all things holy, make him stop crying. Rachel seemed to feel the same way because she was sitting in an easy chair with her hands over her ears screaming that the baby was too loud. She aimed the bottle at his mouth and took a chance. Luckily, Ryan seemed more than happy to acquiesce, and began greedily sucking on the bottle.

"Hey, hey there, it'll still be here if you slow down." Janice said as she remembered to angle the bottle to slow the flow of milk. "We don't need you getting gassy."

"Oh!" Esther looked thrilled. "She knows just what to do." She came and kneeled on the floor in front of Janice and Ryan. "Janice, I think you're just what we need. And, I should be here most of the time when you're here if you need anything, or he just doesn't want anyone but Mommy. What do you think? Would you like to be our children's caregiver?"

Janice fought the urge to laugh at the term caregiver. But, she knew she could probably expect more such gems from Esther. The woman had yet to come into the eighties and still wore her hair long and parted at the center. Her outfit on that day, and as Janice would come to realize, on every day, consisted of a long skirt, a blowsy tunic and tons of eccentric jewelry. It was a sharp contrast to Leonard in his sweater vest and pleated pants. Everyone in the family was a study in individualism it seemed as little Rachel, now that Janice had a good look at her, was wearing a rather formal pinafore dress complete with white stockings and patent mary janes. There were even ribbons in her brown wavy hair.

Janice took this all in and wondered if she wanted to be part of such a family. She then cast a look down at the child in her arms who was still gulping down his lunch. Then she looked back up at his family. Clearly, he was going to need her. "Yes, yes I would love to be your children's bab-caregiver."

"Wonderful!" Esther exclaimed. "Oh, look he's done, why don't you let me take him and we'll show you around the house?"

Janice popped the nipple out of Ryan's mouth and handed him to his mother. Esther put him over his shoulder and began to rub his back.

"I'll burp him while we walk, come on, the kitchen is this way." She stood up and beckoned Janice to follow her. "What do you think bubbalah?" She asked the baby in her arms. "Are you happy Janice is going to stay with you when Momma has to work?"

Ryan's only answer was a loud belch that made his mother laugh. "I think that's a yes." She said, winking at Janice.

The tour of the house consisted of viewings of all the major rooms pertinent to Rachel and Ryan's care. The nursery, the kitchen, the bathroom, and finally, as she insisted it be saved for last, Rachel's bedroom. It was a pink, frothy confectionery of a room that clearly gave her mother no end of aggravation. Her three Barbies sat in the center of her bed looking glamorous and well kept.

Rachel took Janice by the hand and led her around the room. "This is my vanity table. I don't have any make up…yet." It was said with a pout. Then hopeful eyes turned upwards towards Janice. "Do you have any make up? What about lipstick? I love lipstick. Maybe when you're here we can do makeovers?"

Janice didn't want to say yes in front of Esther. "Er, maybe, if your mom says it's okay."

Rachel let out a huff. "She won't."

xxXxx

But, Esther did say yes. Not all the time, but often enough to keep Rachel happy. Janice, like any addition to a family brought changes, and Leonard and Esther did their best to maintain consistency, but allow for fun diversions when it came to raising their children. That was why two years later Esther found herself sitting on a pillow in the middle of her living room allowing Rachel to play with her hair and do her make up.

Rachel had been pushing at Janice for weeks for permission to ask to give her mother to do a make over. Janice had tried to nip any such aspirations in the bud, as she could only imagine Esther's reaction to the statement, "Mom you need a makeover". But, Ryan was now two years old and going through the phase all toddlers experience at that age. He was such a handful that Janice couldn't always keep tabs on his six year old, too shrewd for her age, sister. Eventually, Rachel made it to Esther and expressed her concerns about her mother's appearance. To say Esther was horrified and maybe even a little mortified would not be an overstatement of the facts.

Janice, however, had thought fast and found a way to explain the matter to Esther in a way that appealed to the woman. "It's not that Rachel thinks your ugly, or that any other woman, for that matter is ugly. She just likes pretty things. Well made things, like say an architect, or an artist would. In fact, she wants to play makeover with you because she'd like a little one on one time with her mother. And, she thinks you're face and hair are so pretty, just a perfect canvas, isn't that right Rachel?"

Rachel was still too young to fully grasp what a canvas and artistic expression were. But, she was smart enough to know that Janice was giving her clear indications to agree, and that agreeing would get her what she wanted. "Yes. Mommy please can I brush your hair? I love your hair. It's so shiny and long." It wasn't a lie. Despite her insistence on wearing her own hair in a pageboy bob, Rachel did love her mother's hair. It gave her comfort to touch it whenever her mother held her.

Rachel, like any well meaning mother could not resist such a plea from her first born. "Alright Mammalah, you can give me makeover." She felt instantly gifted at the happy look on her child's face, so she decided to make the day extra special. "Janice why don't you take Ryan to the park, and Rachel and I, will have a girl's day?"

Janice smiled at the way Rachel's face lit up. She'd been caring for the Wolfe children for two years now between her classes and studying. Leonard and Esther had kept their promise not to impede on her academics, but they certainly curbed her personal life. Both of them had thrown themselves back into their research and teaching with a gusto. It meant that whenever she wasn't doing school work, she was at their home. Her presence had been so common place that they had converted Esther's study into a room for Janice. Now, both parents worked in Leonard's office, a big room on the third and topmost floor of the house. Janice saw the practicality in it all, they charged her no rent, which for a cash strapped student in a big city was a miracle, and she was there all the time anyway, but she also harbored some misgivings about the whole thing, that she'd so far been unable to voice to the Wolfes.

She tried to push the thoughts aside and went in search of Ryan. She found him in the hallway between the living room and kitchen gleefully drawing on some construction paper with his crayons.

"Hey little boy."

He would no longer respond to being called a baby, well except to protest the use of the word.

The crayons kept moving around the paper and Ryan didn't look up from his masterpiece. "No little."

Janice smiled and sunk down next to him. "Alright Big Boy, would you like to come to the park with me and play on the swings? Or are you too big for that?"

Ryan continued to color. "I busy." He said flippantly.

Janice was taken aback for a moment. "You're busy? Excuse me, you're two. What are you so busy with? Is there an urgent nap or pants wetting you need to get on with?"

"I busy." He repeated the phrase again.

Janice sighed. She knew he was like a sponge at this age, and that he was only repeating what he heard the adults in his world say, but that was the problem. She had no doubt that the words, "I'm busy", came straight from Leonard's mouth. Even Esther's if she was truthful. The older woman tried harder to spread her time around, that was certain, but both parents were vying for tenured positions and that meant only one thing, publish or perish. She guessed Ryan had learned the phrase after one of his many long sojourns up the stairs between the second floor nursery and Leonard's study.

"Well," she began picking him, crayons and all, up off the floor, "busy or not, you are going to the park."

Ryan had already forgotten his earlier statement. "Park! Yay! Swings!"

"Yay swings indeed boyo," she replied carting him up the stairs to get him changed and ready.

Later that evening after she and Esther had put the children to bed she broached the difficult topic with both parents. Janice had felt nervous, but right, when she sat them both down in the library to explain that she felt the children needed more direct interaction with the two of them. She explained that she didn't feel put upon by her work, and that she was very grateful for everything they'd done for her, but she wouldn't feel she'd done right by Rachel and Ryan if she'd kept silent. In the end Esther and Leonard had thanked her for her frankness, after dealing with some initial hurt and hostile feelings. They both admitted they weren't mad at her, and acknowledged the truth in her statements.

"It's just damn frustrating is all," Leonard had said. "I know I want more time with my kids, but I've also got to provide for them. And there's no change in academia. They all put in their time before me so they'll be damned if they let me get away without doing it."

Esther and Janice had both assured him they understood his dilemma, but that they'd all just have to get creative about finding time for the kids. It was her ability to talk openly with them, and the clear love she displayed for their family that caused Leonard and Esther to take Janice on as a sort of ersatz sister and daughter. For the next two years while she finished her degree in Sociology (they had helped her decide, it allowed her to get a little bit of a every social science they argued instead of having to settle, plus there was some exciting work going on in that field) they made a special effort to include her in all aspects of their family life. They also did their best to give her the space a young college student should have in terms of a social life.

Esther and Leonard also nourished her dream of going to grad school. Her own father and mother had been a little unsure about her choice of Sociology. They asked what she'd do for a living, and they didn't really understand how reading and writing could earn a body a pay cheque. But, Leonard and Esther had helped her to explain it to them. They invited Mr. and Mrs. O'Rouke into the city for dinner during the holidays.

Chanukah was over, but Christmas was still in full swing, and her parents came dressed in their best Sunday clothes, hoping not to seem to shanty to the intellectual, modern family who had taken their daughter in. The truth was they knew there daughter was smart, and they wanted her to realize her dreams, no matter what they were, but they felt a little shoved aside in favor of this young couple and their children. Not to mention they were Jews, from New York City no less. Mrs. O'Rourke had never met a Jew before, and while she was far from bigoted, she worried she might do or say something wrong at dinner. She'd even made sure with Janice that it was okay to wear her crucifix.

Mrs. O'Rourke needn't have worried, however. Esther and Leonard had welcomed them with open arms, and the children had charmed them immediately. Siobhan and Seamus O'Rourke were not yet grandparents, but they wished desperately for it everyday. Janice was their oldest, and while they didn't want her to give everything up for kids, a parent could wish couldn't they? Besides, her younger sister Shelly was finished beauty school now, and her boyfriend had gotten a job as Assistant Manager at the local grocery store. The O'Rourke's expected an engagement, wedding and grandkids any day now.

After dinner Leonard had taken Seamus into his study where he kept his private liquor stash. He poured the older man a short and rather expensive, glass of whiskey, and set about easing his mind about Janice's future. He'd told Seamus his daughter was intelligent, competent and more than ready for the life of an academic. He also told him about salaries, the ways of the profession and what her chances were, and what kind of a living she could make.

"She'll never be rich, but she won't be poor either, and she'll be doing something she loves. What I do isn't just my work Mr. O'Rourke, it's my passion." Leonard had said between sips at his own whiskey.

Seamus had raised his eyebrows and looked thoughtfully at his glass. "Well, my son, this is a mighty fine dram so you can't be too bad off. But, it's another thing to say my daughter is on her way to same comforts you enjoy. She comes from a different place then you Dr. Wolfe. I'm gonna guess your people have degrees and jobs a lot like your own. Janice's mother and I, we just finished high school, we worked hard for everything we have, and we provided for our children. But, we couldn't pay for her university and we still can't. And, I'm not convinced she can. I don't see why she can't get a job, a nice one with her fancy degree and make a living that will keep her comfortable."

Leonard put his glass down and leaned forward, his hands forming steeples. "Mr. O'Rourke I was born in Brooklyn, my wife in Crown Heights. Our families have little in common outside of being Jews from New York, and one more significant link. We are both the children of Shoah, or to you Holocaust survivors. I met Rachel at a remembrance ceremony at our alma mater."

Leonard paused to take a pull of his drink before continuing. He was a quiet man by nature and found it hard to share feelings and experiences with anyone but his wife.

"The only thing my father left Buchenwald with after its liberation was the cloths on his back, and his wallet. Some American soldiers had found it in a safe where the Nazis kept everyone's identification after they confiscated it. His entire family was dead so he left Europe and immigrated here, where he met my mother." Leonard swallowed the lump in his throat before continuing. "My father worked hard to provide for his family, just like you. And, while he was content to be a jack of all trades for hire he always wanted me to do whatever was my passion, and he wanted that passion to be learning. Rachel's mother and father found each other here through a survivor's group. Her mother's family is gone, but her father and his brother Ron managed to get out together. They run a very nice, but modestly profitable kosher butcher shop in Crown Heights. You don't have to be rich to support your child's endeavors, Sir."

"Well, I guess you've got me convinced Dr. Wolfe. And for what's it worth, I was born in '39, few years later my Daddy went over there to fight that war. He was one of the lucky ones, come home in one piece."

Leonard smiled faintly at Mr. O'Rourke and offered his glass in a toast. "Thank you then, from us."

xxXxx

When Janice was accepted to Columbia to do her graduate work the Wolfes celebrated the occasion with a dinner out on the town. Everyone in the family was excited for her, including four year old Ryan, until someone finally explained to him what grad school meant.

"Janice will leave?" He asked the question almost every hour on the hour during and after dinner. He was now sitting in the middle of his bed in his pajamas trying to make sense of the situation. His parents and his Janice were standing around the bed hoping their combined presence would soften the blow. "Where will she go?"

In Ryan's mind Janice simply was. She was there when got up in the morning, and she was the last person he saw at night. He couldn't remember his life without her, because he couldn't remember the first two and half months of his life. He knew Janice lived with him, but she was not his blood family. He knew she went to a big school, the same one Daddy and Mommy worked at. But, he just thought that was because all the adults in his daily life worked at the big school, and that Janice would always go there, but come home to him, just like his parents. He'd never considered her as a person separate from himself and his family.

"Well honey," His mother climbed onto the bed with him. "Janice is going to go to a big school in New York. You know were Bubbe and Zayde Mintz and Wolfe live, right?" He nodded. "Well, Janice is going to live there too!"

He was so confused. "She's gonna live with Bubbe and Zayde?"

Janice sat on his other side. "No Precious, I'm gonna live at my big school."

"But, why?" he asked.

"Well, I have to go to big school there. And, it's in New York, so I have to be in New York." Janice explained it to him as simply as she could.

"Are we going to New York?" Ryan figured wherever Janice went he went; that's how it had always worked.

"We can sometimes. We can go to visit her just like we visit Bubbe and Zayde." Esther assured him.

"But not all the time?" He said catching on quickly.

Leonard ruffled his hair. "No not all the time, sorry buddy, but you'll see Janice when we go to New York for Chanukah and Spring Break, and she'll come back here whenever she wants to. Right Janice?" Janice nodded her agreement. "New York isn't that far away at all."

"But Janice will be gone?" Ryan asked.

"No, Bubbalah, not gone, she just won't live here anymore. She'll have her own house." Esther knew it was a stretch to use the word house to describe a student apartment, but she figured Ryan would understand the word better.

Ryan's lower lip began to tremble. "This is Janice's house!"

It didn't help that the adults around him began to laugh at this statement.

Janice cuddled him. "I know you don't remember Sweetness, but I didn't always live with you. Remember my Mommy and Daddy when they came to visit? I used to live with them, just like you live with your Mommy and Daddy. Then I had to move to go to school and I lived here. Now, I have to move again. But, I'll come back to see you whenever I can. Plus, you're not going to have as much time to spend with me either in September. Do you remember where you're going then?"

"To school!" Leonard and Esther both cried with lots of enthusiasm and smiles. They wanted him to associate positive cues with school as they knew from Rachel that it was a big adjustment for any child.

Fear overtook Ryan then. He was curious to know what school was like, and by this parents' account it was going to be one big barrel of fun. Rachel, however, told a different story. There was homework and Math and you had to be good or else you got detention, and worst of all there were big kids. You have to stay away from the big kids had been Rachel's warning. The conflicting reports he was getting from his parents, Janice, Rachel and the other kids in the neighbor made him a little weary about kindergarten. And now Janice was leaving. Things could not get any worse. And to prove it he broke into tears and let out a wail louder than the one he'd graced her with the first time she'd held him.

It took the better part of an hour to calm him. Then he'd needed a second bath to clean up the snot and fresh pair of jammies. His parents and Janice felt so awful they didn't put up a fight when he ordered his mother and father out of the room and demanded Janice read him a series of stories and stay in his bed.

"You can't leave, even if I fall asleep." He stated before drifting off.

xxXxx

A week later two things happened that delayed Janice's departure from his life. Columbia wrote to say that they could not offer her funding at this time for her Masters. She'd been on a wait list and Leonard had reassured her it was normal and not to give up hope, but there it was, her hope dashed, in black and white. Esther and Leonard had sat her down to talk about her options. She'd been accepted to Boston U and Brown, her back up school, why not go to one of those, where there was funding and try for Columbia when it was time to get a PhD. Or, she could defer her placement for a year at all three schools and hope that Columbia came through later with some money.

"I want Columbia." Janice had said firmly wiping away her tears as she sat at the kitchen table. "So, I'll defer, and get another job."

Esther and Leonard had shared a glance and then sat down opposite her.

"Janice, honey, we want what is best for you. And if Columbia is what you want, what you really want, and you're willing to defer we support that. But, we need to know that's what you want." Esther said, taking her hand.

"It's what I want." Janice stated again.

Esther smiled at her and took her other hand. "Then if it's what you really want there's something we need to discuss with you."

Janice looked up through her tears. "What?"

Esther released the younger woman's hands and ran her own through her waist length hair. "You must have noticed Ryan's behavior lately. He's acting like the model child, like a robot child even. He insists on cleaning up every mess in the house. He's neurotic about the state of his own bedroom, and he's started wetting the bed again. Which, given his knew found love of hygiene is very upsetting to him."

Janice nodded. "I've noticed. I figure he's doing it because he thinks if he's good I won't leave. I'm so sorry you guys, and I've explained to him a hundred times I love him and I'm not leaving because of anything he did. But he's just not getting it."

"We know," Esther said. "And, we don't blame you at all. But, your leaving and his having to start kindergarten is really affecting him. Now, we don't want you to make any decisions tonight, but Leonard and I have been talking and we've been kicking around an idea for some time now. If you do stay the next year, now that we both have tenure our salaries are much more secure, not to mention larger. What if we paid you double minimum wage for full time hours? We know both Ryan and Rachel will be in school, but your future and you are worth it to us Janice. It would give Ryan a chance to adjust and you a much needed break during the day, while still making money."

Janice was gobsmacked. "Oh, you guys, I couldn't. I couldn't take wages for hours I'm not working."

Leonard smiled at her. "But, you will be Janice. We expect you to use your time wisely. To read, to learn, to experience things before you shackle yourself to grad school. You've put in a long four years, and you've done it while practically raising a family. You invested in us Janice, now we want to do the same for you."

She started to cry again, but this time out of happiness. "Okay, I will, thank you both so much. I'm going to go tell Ryan I'm not leaving. Maybe it'll wrench the broom out of his hand."

xxXxx

The extra year seemed to be just what the doctor ordered. Janice saved her money and enjoyed herself while Rachel and Ryan went to class. She went for long walks, sat in cafés and went out with friends. All the things she was supposed to do as an undergraduate but hadn't.

Ryan for his part seemed to abandon his need for clean once he was sure Janice wasn't going anywhere right away. He didn't mind kindergarten, it was fun most of the time and it was only for half a day. He made friends and found that sometimes, more often than he expected, he wanted to play with them after school instead of just Janice. He still wanted her there in case he needed her, and she often accompanied him on play dates, but he was growing up and away from her just a little. As the year wore on Janice noticed his independence more and more, and while sometimes it made her long for the little baby who needed her, it also reassured her that he would be okay when she left this time.

In March Columbia wrote to say they had funding to give her. In August the Wolfes traveled to New York with her, and her parents, to look at apartments and tour campus. She moved out in the first week of September after seeing Ryan off to his first day of grade one. She promised to call him often, to write, to visit and most excitedly to send him surprises in the mail when she could. She left all of her make up with Rachel, much to the nine year old's delight, and promised herself she'd buy new, nicer stuff in New York.

The years passed and Janice kept her promises. She called, she visited and she sent surprises. She stayed at Columbia for her PhD and she got a job teaching there shortly after. When she got her own apartment she had the Wolfes over to stay and once the children were old enough they took solo trips to New York just to see her. Rachel and Ryan particularly enjoyed such visits during their teen years. Janice wasn't their mom so she didn't have to be overly strict with them. She let them run around the city unattended and she took them to concerts, museums and anywhere else they wanted to go. That's not to say she indulged all their whims. She would not let sixteen year old Rachel get a tattoo during one weekend visit when she was feeling spiteful because Leonard wouldn't let her go to a party the Saturday before where alcohol had been served.

When twelve year old Ryan began to bring home letters from school that said things like, _Ryan is very gifted, but refuses to use the school lavatory because it is "too dirty" _and _Ryan is unable to leave the classroom without making three complete turns of the room_, she flew back to Boston to help Leonard and Esther deal. The doctor had diagnosed Obsessive Compulsive Disorder and Esther had been gutted. Leonard had been dismissive, he didn't believe in these new fangled social disorders. Janice had found Dr. David Stein, a well known and reputable therapist who dealt mainly with OCD. She gambled on his being a scholar, close in age to Leonard, and a Jew, as enough to at least get Ryan's parents to listen to him. She'd been right, and after a meeting with Dr. Stein, in which he explained the realness of OCD, but also the fact it was treatable, Leonard and Esther has sent Ryan to him. While it made for some awkward teenage years, it ensured by the time he graduated high school Ryan was able to control his compulsions, and had even left many of them behind. He credited Dr. Stein and Janice with his being able to tell people he was, "only sort of OCD".

Eventually the day came when Janice was the one accompanying Rachel to look at campuses when she was accepted to law school in New York. When Ryan joined a reggae band in college she allowed the entire band to sleep on her floor when they were on "tour". She didn't think two shows in New York counted as a tour, but the young men were all so eager and proud she'd bitten her tongue and kept her opinions to herself. She supported Ryan when he decided to go to graduate school in Miami, when his parents wanted him to stay closer to the East Coast. She couldn't fly down there with him to see the University of Miami, and she felt guilty for having been able to do the same with Rachel, so she wrote him a cheque. She told him to use it on anything but school and Ryan had to admit, that was sort of better then having her schlep him around campuses.

By this time cell phones and email were ubiquitous and Janice found staying in touch with her second family to be easy. She checked up on Rachel and Ryan often during their studies, and even flew down to Miami to spend Chanukah with Ryan and his Uncle Ron who had retired to the Sunshine State a few years prior. Uncle Ron had been surprised and delighted when Janice had fired up her laptop and webcam, as it allowed him to see and hear his Esther and her family on the screen. Rachel was visiting her parents for the holidays and it meant they all got to open their presents together via the Internet.

As far as Ryan was concerned his choice of Miami had been one of the best decisions he ever made. He was far enough way from his parents to finally enjoy some independence, but Uncle Ron was always near by, and the weather was always nice. He'd made friends, and even managed to meet some girls. Despite being in a band, it had taken him most of his undergrad to shed his nerdy/weird image from high school, and now that he was in graduate school he really wanted to do something about this whole virginity thing. It wasn't like he was the only virgin in a graduate class of Biochem students, but he figured his friend Rajit Vidyasankar had an excuse; Raj had just gotten of the plane from India where his family still arranged marriages.

In order to bolster both of their chances with the ladies Ryan and Raj had moved into a house with a fellow U of Miami student, Chad at the start of their second year of grad school. Chad was definitely a Chad. He was tall, tanned and good looking. He wore Abercrombie and Fitch and girls loved him. It wasn't like Chad was dumb, far from it, as he was doing a Masters in Engineering. Chad, however, was like a lot of Engineers, he worked hard, and he partied even harder. Ryan and Raj had decided they could handle having to live and study in a house that was largely party central if it meant some of Chad's cast offs might come their way.

It had been during one of Chad's many parties that Ryan got the phone call that would change his life.

"Dude, you're never gonna believe this," Chad came stumbling towards Ryan and a girl he was making head way with on the stair case.

She was pretty and blond and her name was Skylar. She'd started showing up at their parties for Chad, but once she'd realized the extent of the competition she'd turned her sights elsewhere. She'd not managed to hook any of Chad's Engineering or rowing buddies, so she once again lowered her expectations. In a choice between Raj and Ryan she figured at least Ryan spoke perfect English. Plus, she was drunk.

"Your Mom's on the phone man," Chad said throwing an unsteady arm around Ryan. "Hey Sky," he acknowledged the girl standing beside them. "What's going on here? You treat my Ryan nice, he's a good guy."

Part of Ryan wanted to sink into the floor, but a bigger part did not want to abandon Skylar to the increasingly drunken and horny masses. There were already at least three other guys who had decided as the night wore on, she'd do, and he didn't want to lose his chance. Besides, to Ryan she was an upgrade, whereas he figured to Johnny Sixpack over there she was just okay, but available. If anyone got to drunkenly make out with her, by rights, it should have been him. He was after all, the gentleman in this scenario; a horny, self interested gentleman, but a gentleman none the less.

Chad realized Ryan was not moving and so he tried again to convey the urgency he heard on the phone. "Ryan! Your Mom says it's really important I get you on the phone. She said it was an emergency."

Ryan sighed. He should have known, his mother, the ultimate in Jewish mothers would be able to sense the moment some hussy was even considering defiling her baby boy. He'd bet dollars to donuts the emergency was concocted to get him out of the very situation he prayed for nightly. He told Skylar not to go anywhere and hoped vodka coolers didn't make her restless or forgetful. Then he went into his bedroom to answer the phone.

"Hey Ma, it's me" He said as he picked up the receiver by his bed.

He heard Esther's panicked voice, but he also heard tons of noise from his own house. Chad had obviously left the phone of the hook when he answered it in the kitchen.

"Ma, Ma, hold on, I can't hear you, just hold on Ma, I'll be right back."

Ryan hung up his phone and walked to the kitchen. There were only two people in it; Raj and one of first year girls from their Biochem program. Ryan couldn't remember her name, but she was definitely into Raj. Ryan sighed again and picked up the kitchen phone. Life was so unfair, even Raj was going to get laid before him.

"Ma, I'm back, what's going on?"

But Esther had not heeded his last words and was still talking in a rush. It sounded like she had never stopped after Ryan left his bedroom.

He struggled to understand her. Something was clearly wrong, as he'd never heard his mother this hysterical. Not even when Zayde Mintz had passed. "Ma, slow down, I can't understand you. I need you to start again. Please," He didn't want to say the next part in mixed company, but he figured Raj and girl weren't paying him any attention anyway, "you're scaring me."

Miles away in Boston Esther broke down in a sob. She couldn't say it all again. She couldn't believe she had to say it at all. Her heart was breaking and she was about to do the same to her son. She handed the phone to her husband who had wanted to be the one to call Ryan before she insisted that she was well enough to do it.

"Ryan?" Leonard's voice boomed down the line.

"Dad? Yeah I'm here. Dad, what's going on?" Ryan asked as his pulse was started to quicken.

Leonard took a deep breath and tried to decide how to proceed. He was in just as much shock as his wife, but someone had to keep it together. "Ryan, son, we got some bad, no that's not the word, some just, some awful news today. Are you with friends? I think someone should be there when I tell you this."

Now Ryan was scared. This had to be serious. What if something had happened to Rachel? Her firm had moved her to London for a year. Anything could have gone wrong so far from home. "Is Rachel okay?"

Leonard closed his eyes. Rachel, they'd already spoken to Rachel, it had been gut-wrenching and a glimpse into what it would be like to tell their son the horrible news. He'd made Rachel promise to let them tell Ryan. She'd been too upset to argue. She'd simply hung up and cried while booking flights back to the States.

"Rachel's fine."

Ryan felt a small amount of relief. "Then what's going on Dad? Why's mom so upset? Who's dead?" He'd said the last part as a joke, but he was beginning to fear the worst.

"Ryan, son, I want you to listen very carefully and sit down if you need to." Leonard decided it was now or never. "Ryan, Janice is dead. We heard from her parents and the police today."

Ryan didn't understand. It was more confusing then the night they'd explained why she had to move to him when he was four. "What? I don't understand."

Leonard fought back tears. "Son, Janice was murdered last night. We would have called you sooner but we had no idea. The police contacted her next of kin, her parents this morning and the O'Rourkes called us. Siobhan was unable to talk, but Seamus let us know, and he gave us the number of the Detective, Mac Taylor, who is working her case. We spoke to him this afternoon. Apparently the assailant, as Det. Taylor calls him, broke into her apartment last night and killed her."

Ryan reached for the kitchen counter for support. Raj, who had been enjoying the attentions of his new lady friend, stopped their little tickle fight once he observed Ryan's body language. His roommate was very pale and he looked like he was going to be sick.

"Are you okay man?" Raj called from across the kitchen.

Ryan made no reply to Raj, but tried to respond to his father. "I, I don't, why?"

Leonard nearly broke down at his son's obvious distress. He'd asked Mac Taylor the same question. Why? Why would someone do such a terrible, monstrous thing? The detective had no answer to that, but he'd assured Leonard he would to his best to find the person responsible and bring him to justice.

"I don't know why son. Why does anyone take the life of another?" Leonard wondered how much more he should say. But, Ryan would need to know, he would know once he saw the closed casket. "Ryan, I don't want to have to say this, but I must. Janice wasn't just murdered randomly. The police have reason to believe she was the victim of a serial killer who goes after women associated with Columbia. He's a very violent man son and he, well, he raped her and he took one of her fingers and her left eye."

Ryan heard two things after his father finished talking. He heard his mother cry out on the other end of the phone as the details of Janice's death were repeated to her for the third time that day, and he heard Raj scream his name. After that, it was all inky blackness.

_And I'm the sadist  
Like the mayor of the badlands  
And you're tired, you're oh so fuckin' tired  
And your homes let it slide, let the bad guys in behind  
Now they're making with your honey, with your freedom and your money  
And you're fucked, oughta say it, save it for a rainy day it,  
'Cause baby, you're addicted  
You're addicted  
Fuck you, fuck you, you're, fuck... ing addicted_

_And I'm a nice guy, it's always been my problem  
Don't know whether I should fuck it, or destroy it  
Or should I fire it or employ it or hate it  
Or enjoy it, cause I'm addicted  
Like a cancer, eating at the answer  
I've got the beauty by the throat, so it couldn't sing a note  
And it's begging just for seeing for the truth in all its being  
For needing, bleeding, feeding, weeding, treating, bleeding, cheating, gums receding  
C'mon people, get addicted, get ad-dic-dic-dicted  
Let's everybody get addicted  
People get addicted  
People get addicted  
C'mon people, get addicted_

_TBC….I haven't watched very much CSI: New York, so forgive if there's no way Mac Taylor could have been a detective in say the years 2000-2001._


	7. Chapter 7

Disclaimer: Still don't own anything. Wouldn't want it as it is. Title and lyrics come from The Rolling Stones song of the same name. Youtube them performing it at Knebworth in the UK-1976…that's what real rock stars look like for any of you who have been fooled by the Jonas Brothers. John Stewart was the first to express the sentiments about NYC and its Americanism that I put in Mac's mouth.

A/N: To the few brave souls still reading this, I'm sorry I've been so negligent. I have a 9-5 and its summer, so there's that distraction. And, I'm kicking around the idea of law school, so the LSAT prep is keeping me busy. If being a lawyer has anything at all to do with figuring out how many clowns got out of the clown car and in what order, in just under 2 minutes (the average time you should spend on each question of the LSAT) I may have to reconsider my career choice.

Chapter 7: Wild Horses

"_In the halls of justice the only justice is in the halls."_

"_I'll die young, but it's like kissing God."_

_-Lenny Bruce_

_Childhood living is easy to do  
The things you wanted I bought them for you  
Graceless lady, you know who I am,  
You know I can't let you slide through my hands_

_Wild Horses, Couldn't drag me away,  
Wild, wild horses, Couldn't drag me away..._

_I watched you suffer a dull, aching pain  
Now you decided to show me the same  
No sweeping exits or offstage lines,  
Can make me feel bitter or treat you unkind_

_Wild Horses, Couldn't drag me away,  
Wild, wild horses, Couldn't drag me away..._

_-The Rolling Stones_

New York City, New York, late October 2003

Ryan was sitting in the middle of what had been Janice's living room with his head resting on his knees. The Rolling Stones were playing in the background. He'd been listening to the _Sticky Fingers_ album none stop on her record player for hours. It wasn't Janice's favorite Stones record, but it contained her favorite song, Wild Horses. She'd sung it to him all the time when he was little. The song was present in most of his earliest memories. He could still hear her voice singing it to him, promising him….

_Wild, wild horses, couldn't drag me away…_

He didn't know as a small child that the song was about a damaged love affair and a lady who left in the end. He'd simply taken comfort from her lovely voice, honed from years of Catholic choir practice and the simple message he could understand in its words; I will never leave you, they can't make me, nothing can.

But something had, or rather someone. Janice had left. She'd been murdered, in this very apartment, somewhere on the same floor he was sitting on just three weeks ago. They'd buried her a few days before in the tiny town she was born in. Ryan had left Miami two days after answering the life altering call from his father. He couldn't remember much about that night but he'd been told afterward that he'd blacked out. His could only recall the sound of utter anguish his mother had made over the phone and then waking up in his bed with Chad and Raj standing over him.

The party had been called to a close once Raj had watched Ryan fall to the floor. Everyone assumed Chad's nerdy roommate had drunk too much and killed the fun. Chad and Raj allowed them that illusion, as it was better than explaining what had actually happened. And only Raj knew exactly what had happened. It was poor Raj who picked up the phone Leonard was desperately screaming into after Ryan had passed out.

"Hello? Hello sir? This is Ryan's friend Raj? Sir, what is the matter? Ryan is not well….no he's breathing sir, he's just over come…what has happened? I see, I see, I am sorry sir, I am very sorry for your loss sir. Yes, we will look after him…I will sir. Yes, I will let him know you are arranging flights…I am so very sorry."

Chad had carried Ryan to his room, and laid him on the bed. This means if Ryan had been conscious at the time, or had ever asked Chad about it later, neither of which occurred, he might know that Eric is not in fact, the only man who gets to carry him. When he finally came round no one knew what to say. Chad and Raj just watched as Stacy, the lone female engineering student in their group, patted Ryan's forehead with a cold cloth.

Ordinarily, waking up to Stacy giving him a sponge bath and looking at him with concerned eyes would have been Ryan's ultimate fantasy. She was beautiful, and completely off limits as it was presumed by all who knew them that if anyone had Chad's affections it was her. It all added up to forbidden lust and frequent masturbation on his part. But, this was not a dream. Stacy wasn't a figment of his imagination. Nor were the other two people in his room. And, the phone call he'd gotten was real. It had actually happened. Janice was dead. His Janice was dead. She'd been dead for hours now, a day even. She'd been murdered! Raped and killed while he'd watched Family Guy reruns with Raj the night before. How could it be possible that she'd suffered so much and he hadn't known, hadn't sensed it and rushed to her aid?

He stilled Stacy's hands on his face. "I have to go. I have to go to New York." He made to sit up but she, and then Chad, pushed him back down.

"Oh no, you don't buddy. You just take a rest for a bit." Chad wanted to say something better, more comforting and not as cliché, but he couldn't think of anything. Why were there no words for this?

Raj appeared over Stacy's shoulders. "You just rest and breathe. We will be here. Your father is coming tomorrow to get you… to take you home… for the burial."

Ryan tried to get out of bed again. "They can't bury her! They don't know who killed her yet! They can't-

"Okay, okay, lie back down," Stacy said while coaxing him back to his pillow. "Funeral or not you'll have to go with your Dad. You'll need to arrange for leave from the program for a bit."

Chad gave her a look. "He doesn't need to think about that now." He peered down at Ryan. "Don't you worry about it buddy, we'll deal with that, or well, Raj will deal with it."

If it wasn't for the horrific circumstances Raj would have rolled his eyes. Of course Chad would suggest the work be done, but then leave it to Raj to actually do it. Typical white boy; give the work to the Indian, he likes it. But he would do it, and in this case he'd do it willingly and without hesitation.

Two days later, after providing Raj with all the necessary information and contact numbers for the departmental paperwork Ryan left on a plane for Boston with his father. Two weeks after that they buried Janice. By all rights he could have returned to Miami after the funeral, but there was still the issue of Janice's belongings to deal with.

Seamus had sighed wearily into the glass of whiskey he was drinking post burial and said, "It's New York, I spose. What can you do? The bugger wants to rent the place out again as soon as possible". He wanted to go and collect his daughter's belongings, but he was reluctant to leave Siobhan as her depression prevented her to from getting out of bed, eating or showering without his encouragement.

Ryan had immediately volunteered his services to go and retrieve what was left of Janice's life. At first Seamus had turned him down cold.

"Not likely, my son," he'd said while Ryan and Leonard pounded back whiskey with him. "You're in school for a reason. She'd not have wanted you to neglect your studies. Not for anything."

Ryan would not relent. "But, I'm on leave. The school won't mind, my supervisor won't care. I'm young, I'm able bodied and I can pack and clean like nobody's business."

"He's right Seamus," Leonard, to Ryan's surprise, supported his son's argument. "Siobhan needs you. Your kids need you. Your place is here right now. Ryan will go. We've got family in New York. They'll see to it he gets it done."

They decided Ryan would borrow his father's car and drive to New York the following day. He'd take whatever could fit in the car back to Siobhan and Seamus, and the larger things would come after in a U-Haul driven by his cousins Ari and Elon. It would mean bunking with his mother's sister and her family, who were much more orthodox than he was used to, but he'd live with wearing long sleeves and observing Shabbat for the O'Rourke's sake. It would only be for a week or two anyway, and he'd be at Janice's apartment most of the time packing.

When Ryan made it into Manhattan he'd gone directly to Janice's apartment. He knew he should have checked in with his aunt and uncle first, but he'd been unable to resist the siren song calling him towards Janice's home. He'd thought of nothing since he'd left but ensuring the safe recovery of her belongings, and perhaps spending some time in her home, saying good- bye. He'd been prepared to get emotional once he'd made it to her door, but he wasn't expecting the fear. Someone had broken in and killed her. She'd died on the living room floor. What if the police hadn't cleaned up? What if her possessions were strewn about like the break ins on TV? What if there was still blood and a chalk outline on the floor?

Ryan recognized he was being ridiculous, but he didn't know how these things worked. He wasn't a cop. He'd taken a deep breath and assured himself the landlord and the police would have cleaned things up. As he opened the door to her apartment he mused for the first time about what it must be like to be a cop. When they had opened this door there had been a body on the other side of it. They saw murder all the time and they hunted the people who committed such brutal acts. He wondered what kind of a life that was.

His questions were short lived however, as he stepped into the apartment. He'd planned to do a quick survey of the place and figure out what needed to be done. Instead he'd immediately been over powered by her things, and her presence. She was no longer there, but the trappings of her day to day life were and it was too much for him. He could only sit on the couch and cry over the fact that he was never, ever going to see her again. She'd really been in that box they'd put in the ground. The closed casket that Siobhan had insisted on had almost let him pretend it wasn't real, that she wasn't dead, just missing or on vacation.

His crying jag led to a search for tissues. He found them, conveniently enough, right across from the couch, tucked into one of the many shelves that held her record collection. He'd pulled one out of the box and ran a hand over the dusty spines of the album covers. Janice had loved music, especially popular music. She'd come of age in the seventies, and like most people, she'd clung to the music that was tops when she was a teen.

The collection was predominantly classic rock, but had sprinklings of reggae, new wave, punk and U2. The stuff anyone who was young in the seventies and in college in the early eighties would have listened to. Ryan decided immediately that the records would not be returning to her parent's home. Siobhan and Seamus would have no room or use for them. He, however, would appreciate them, and never be parted from them.

He hadn't made any specific plans to keep anything of Janice's for himself. The important things, like the bound copy of her PhD, the first prints of the books she'd written, her diplomas, jewelry and diaries he would send to her parents. He knew that her laptop, research materials and any writing she'd been working on was being handled by her research partner, a fellow sociologist in California. Ryan assumed, from the broken look of the man at the funeral, he had been more than just a work colleague to Janice. Ryan figured he might save a few pieces of Janice's costume jewelry or hair clips for Rachel and his mother. His father had exchanged many long letters with her on everything from politics, philosophy, religion, family and all the stuff in between. Those he would gather and bind to return to Leonard. Her clothes and furniture were useless now. He'd send it all to the Goodwill so that people who needed it could find it.

He'd forgotten about the records, and that was surprising given that he'd wiled away many afternoons as a small child listening to them with her. He was too young to know what the music was about, but he could understand the excitement involved in going to the store to pick a new album out, the eager walk home and then finally putting it on the record player for the first time. He'd appreciated being included in Janice's forays to the record store, and he'd also enjoyed, like any little kid, having an adult spend an entire day just singing and dancing with him. Every trip to the record store and the party atmosphere afterward was something he'd eagerly anticipated.

Ryan shook off the memories and searched through the shelves until he found the Stones album he'd always associated with Janice. When he found her copy of _Sticky Fingers_ it was covered dust. Janice, like many boomers had transferred her entire record collection to electronic format, and as such the album had not been moved from its space it quite awhile.

Ryan shuffled around and found the phonograph in the same place it had been during his many stays in Janice's apartment. He gently laid the vinyl on the table and hoped for the best. He hadn't seen Janice use it for ages, and for all he knew it might not work anymore. Ryan checked to make sure the machine was plugged in, and then he flipped the on switch. To his delight the little light that signaled everything was fine, and ready to rock was burning brightly. He lifted the needle and watched as the album began to spin. He took a deep breath and counted out the three deepest grooves in the vinyl. _Wild Horses_ was the third track on the first side, and as he found it Ryan smiled at what a contemporary teen would probably think of this "archaic" technology. It was a lot harder to skip tracks when you had to physically get up and do it.

His humorous mindset didn't last for long. As the opening strains of the song began to play he felt himself tearing up again.

_Childhood living is easy to do  
The things you wanted I bought them for you  
Graceless lady you know who I am  
You know I can't let you slide through my hands_

He sank down to the floor in front of the speakers and cried into his hands. There was no one there to see him and he really didn't care anyway. He was beginning to believe what the priest had said at Janice's funeral, that when someone you love is killed a part of you dies too.

_Wild horses couldn't drag me away  
Wild, wild horses, well ride them some day_

He lay there for hours listening to The Stones and musing about life and death, mostly death, and wondering how it was that someone could take the life of another. He tried to figure out if Rachel or his parents had died would it hurt like this, or differently? Would that pain be more acute or just the same? He wondered, as he always did when faced with death, which admittedly was not often at that point, about his Uncle Ron and everyone else in his family that had experienced the Shoah. Had Uncle Ron hurt like this? He must have, and on a much larger scale. At that moment Ryan was in awe of the elderly man, who had lost so much, yet still faced the world with a smile everyday. Janice's death was just one death, but Ryan felt he might never recover from it. Just moving from his spot on the floor felt like it would be next to impossible given the heavy weight of his grief.

He did get up of course, after his aunt rang his cell phone in hysterics because he was supposed to have arrived at her home hours ago. He'd apologized for worrying her and promptly made his way to Crown Heights. After being force fed enough to sustain a small army and fussed over by his aunt he went to bed. It was better to be a guest than a resident in his aunt's house, as the occupant of her spare room was the only person not obliged to share their space. The solitude was welcome and it allowed him to brood. His thoughts turned, as they had every night since he'd been told of Janice's death, to her killer.

Who was this animal and why hadn't the police found him yet? Ryan had decided on the drive to New York that not enough was being done to find the person responsible. From what Seamus had told Ryan about his dealing with Det. Mac Taylor the killer had a lengthy resume. He'd killed at least four women in fifteen years, and all of them had been students at Columbia University. Janice was the first lecturer to die, but she'd also been a student at one point, so the connection was there. Taylor had called him a signature serial killer, which meant that unlike other serials he did not want to be caught. The murders would most likely to continue until the killer was apprehended or unable to physically carry out his crimes. Ryan couldn't understand why there wasn't more being done if they knew more women were going to die. He wasn't a cop, so he didn't know the ins and outs of police work, but he was a rational person, and a scientist, and his instincts were telling him this was not a situation in which one should take a wait and see approach.

Ryan had been fantasizing about confronting this Det. Taylor since he'd first heard the man's name. He'd been raised to be naturally suspicious of the police. His mother thought that police and security forces were violent reflections of the damage caused by "hyper-masculinity" and patriarchal social norms. His father was a civil libertarian who believed in free speech, decriminalizing most narcotics and transparency in action on the part of police and military forces. Ryan also felt that in their heart of hearts they believed themselves smarter and somewhat above the people who would deign to be cops. It smacked of blue collar work.

But, Ryan wasn't angry for any political reasons. His rage was purely personal. Eeven though he could hear Esther's voice admonishing him that the personal was political, he knew that wasn't the issue. He wanted to scream at Mac Taylor because he couldn't scream at Janice's killer. The person responsible for her death was nowhere to be found, so the only place to lay blame was at the feet of the person tasked with finding him.

Under ordinary circumstances Ryan would have stewed in his anger privately while never quite working up the nerve to confront his tormentor. Not this time. Things were different now. This wasn't a teacher talking down to him in class, or big kids pushing him around in the playground or Chad embarrassing him in front of a hot girl. This was no mere slight. Someone had murdered a member of his family. That person would have to pay, and Mac Taylor was the only person who could make it happen. And so far Det. Taylor was falling down on the job as far as Ryan was concerned. So he decided that tomorrow he'd tell his aunt he was going to Janice's to pack things up, but he'd actually pay Mac Taylor a visit and try holding the detective's feet under the proverbial fire.

xxXxx

New York City Police Department

The waiting room at NYPD's Crime lab was buzzing with activity as people darted to and fro, some of them wearing lab coats and carrying sealed bags that Ryan knew had to be filled with something sterile or lab related. Other people were wearing suits and uniforms and carrying guns. All of them seemed to have somewhere important they needed to be immediately. Ryan was a little thrown off by the presence of the lab techs.

He knew that crime labs existed. And logic told him they would have to be staffed by people who studied the sciences and had experience with lab work. He'd just never really put police work and science together as a shared endeavor before.

He'd been waiting for Mac Taylor for over an hour now. He'd shown up without an appointment and his relation to a homicide victim in an active case hadn't bought him any favors with the woman at the front desk. She'd told him Det. Taylor was a very busy man, and if Ryan hadn't made an appointment he'd just have to wait and hope that at some point the head of the crime lab could make a few moments for him. That comment threw Ryan off. Not because he'd be expected to wait, but because he hadn't pictured Mac Taylor as head of a lab. In Ryan's world those jobs went to distinguished and prolific scientists who regularly contributed to their field.

The long wait was becoming increasingly uncomfortable due to the heat. The crime lab's waiting room had no A/C, no doubt to preserve the precious, but costly, commodity for the laboratories. Ryan was tempted to ask if he could wait in the morgue where it would be cooler. It was not particularly warm out that day as November was rapidly approaching, but he swore it was near 77 degrees in the waiting room. Maybe it just felt like 77 to him. No one else seemed overly bothered by the heat. But then, he was the only person in the room wearing a tag that said V for visitor and he didn't think anyone else was there psyching themselves up to yell at a cop.

He was also the only person dressed like a reluctant rabbinical student, and the extra clothes were only adding to his temperature woes. When visiting his mother's family there were certain concessions he had to make and dressing appropriately was one of them. That meant black dress pants, a white shirt buttoned up and black suit jacket. There was nothing that could be done for his hair as one could not grow peyos in a week, but he did have to wear his yarmulke at all times.

The unfamiliar surroundings and clothes were combining with his anxiousness about confronting Mac Taylor to make him hot and uncomfortable, not to mention queasy. If Det. Taylor didn't show up soon, Ryan's opening salvo would go from loud accusations to vomiting on the man's shoes. Both could be construed as expressions of displeasure, but Ryan doubted puking would make him seem intimidating. He wanted to be taken seriously and he was beginning to feel like that was impossible the longer he waited and sweatier he got.

He considered losing the yarmulke and jacket but then realized he had no where to put them. He couldn't stuff a whole jacket into his back pocket. So he settled for adjusting himself and sniffing his arm pits to make sure he didn't smell. This was of course the exact moment Mac Taylor chose to walk into the waiting room.

"Ryan Wolfe?"

His name was spoken as half question and half statement.

Ryan looked up to see a man with dark hair and an even darker suit standing over him. There was an American flag pinned to the man's left lapel.

"What? I, I mean yes, that's me." Ryan stammered as he stood to offer a sweaty hand to Mac Taylor.

The older man extended his own hand. "Detective Mac Taylor." His grip screamed military background. "What can I do for you Mr. Wolfe?"

Ryan was momentarily speechless. He'd thought of a million things he'd wanted to scream at this man, but he couldn't manage it now. His hand was still smarting from Taylor's grip. If that was how the man said hello how was he going to react to accusations of negligence? Ryan took a deep breath and swallowed his fear. He was doing this for Janice, and by extension both of their families. He summoned up the sight of Siobhan lying over her daughter's coffin at the funeral and used it to give him the strength to press on.

"You're working the Janice O'Rourke case," Ryan began and then wavered a moment. "And, and I'm here on behalf of her family."

Mac gave him the once over. Ryan figured the man was trying to add up how the name O'Rourke and yarmulkes went together.

"I see. Well, you mind telling me in what capacity your representing the O'Rourkes?" Mac asked.

Ryan forgot to be nervous as he mistook Mac's question for a statement of stereotypical thinking. "Not all of us are lawyers you know."

Mac broke into a smile. "That's funny kid. But, it wasn't where I was going with this. I'd just like to know who I'm talking to. I can't discuss an active case with any Tom, Dick, or in this case, Har'el off the street now can I?"

"Oh, right, of course." Ryan smiled at the detective's joke and continued. "I'm a family friend."

He paused, that wasn't the truth, at least not the whole truth. Janice had been family to him, and he knew he'd been the same to her. But, how to explain their relationship to Mac Taylor without casting himself as a child, and therefore not to be taken seriously escaped Ryan.

He tried again. "She was, well, she lived with my family, and you spoke to my Dad." Ryan hated invoking Leonard, as once again it implied he wasn't the adult in this conversation. But, there was no going back now. "She was my nanny, but she was like family Det. Taylor. We…my family, that is, we haven't got a lot to extended family members. We're a small group. Janice, she was very important to us."

Mac Taylor said nothing, so Ryan thought the detective might need more convincing.

"She raised me, sir." He didn't notice the emotional tone his voice had taken on till it was too late. "I, we, we loved her," it was getting harder to talk, "very much."

Mac had kept quiet before not because he did not believe Ryan, but because he had sensed the emotional distress that was about to surface. The young man in front of him was not the first, nor would he be the last, to lay his pain at Mac's feet.

"Maybe we should step into my office, Ryan." Mac slipped an arm around the younger man's shoulders and turned him in the proper direction. "Can I call you Ryan?"

Ryan nodded and tried to hide the fact he was wiping his eyes. "Sure."

Once they were safely inside Mac's office he offered Ryan a chair and some tissues.

"You learn to keep these handy when you work a job like mine," he said holding out the Kleenex box to Ryan.

"Thank you," Ryan mumbled and blew his nose. This was not the impression he had wanted to make. He was supposed to be all fire and brimstone, not tears and snot.

Mac pulled up a chair across from Ryan. "Why don't you tell me why you're here Ryan."

"I told you why I'm here."

Mac folded his arms across his chest. "You did. But, let me ask you this. If I picked up the phone and called Seamus O'Rourke right now would he expect me to say you dropped by?"

Ryan considered lying, but he figured that a seasoned cop would sniff him out. "No sir."

"So you're here because?"

The seemingly flippant nature of the question set Ryan off. "I'm here because you still haven't found the person who killed Janice! He killed four other women! What more does this psycho have to do before you guys make an effort?"

If his outburst had offended the detective his face did not reflect it. Mac's expression hadn't changed at all the last fifteen minutes. At the time Ryan had thought it made the man seem callous, but he would later learn it was simply a well honed interrogation tactic. Mac had forced Ryan to reveal all his cards and his emotions, while not giving away anything himself.

"And what makes you think we're not putting any effort into finding this serial?" Mac asked.

Ryan took a deep breath and willed himself to speak in a more controlled manner. "Fifteen years Det. Taylor. That's what makes me think you aren't trying. Fifteen years is a lifetime when you're talking about murder. Four women dead, now five with Janice, and more on the way while you dawdle. How many women have to die before this is top priority for you people? I'm a university student detective. I paid good money for my degree. Thousands of women are doing the exact same thing at Columbia right now, and what are they paying for? The chance to be brutally murdered?"

Mac absorbed Ryan's words and the anger behind them before he spoke. "What do you know about police work Ryan?"

Ryan snorted derisively. His sarcasm rose to the fore as it was wont to do in an emotional situation. "In New York City you mean? I don't know. What do you guys get up to when you aren't shooting unarmed African immigrants fifty odd times in the chest, and bum rushing the homeless out of Manhattan?"

Mac Taylor fought everyday to protect three things; the honor of his country, the safety of his city and the integrity of his lab. Ryan Wolfe had just insulted his efforts in all three. But, it didn't anger the detective, because he was used to it. You didn't become a cop in New York City if you couldn't take the heat. New Yorkers may not have invented sarcasm, skepticism, dissidence and attitude, but they'd certainly perfected it. Mac also understood that Ryan words were borne out of anger, grief and ignorance. He couldn't remedy the first two emotions, but he could do something to dispel the ignorance.

"Well, Ryan, if that's the opinion you have of the NYPD maybe I should educate you as to what it is we do here." Mac was not about to take the bait and give Ryan the fight the younger man so desperately wanted. Instead, he stood up and held his door open. "How about a tour of my lab?"

Ryan's face was a picture of confusion. "What?"

"Well, you said you didn't know what the NYPD does. So, I thought I might show you. The best way to do that is through demonstration." Mac indicated to Ryan to follow him through the door. "Come on."

Ryan got to his feet hastily and tried to keep up with Mac. The detective's office was elevated above the rest of the lab, and gave the impression he presided over all the goings on below. Their journey began one floor down, which was where they housed the trace, DNA and finger printing labs. Ryan listened as Mac rattled of the names and specialties of the technicians toiling away behind the glass windows. He noticed that the DNA lab used the same brand of centrifuge and pipettes as his own lab back at UM. The consistency of science and its tools gave him a little comfort in a situation that made him feel like a fish out of water.

Mac led Ryan down another set of stairs and onto the floor he affectionately called the "middle child". When they passed the A/V and Computer Securities lab Mac explained that the super hero posters on the wall were a concession he had to make in order to get the technicians he needed.

"Computer securities became a huge issue after 9/11. We're constantly on alert for another attack. The FBI, CIA and Pentagon do the majority of the work, but we're the eyes and ears on the ground." Mac stated while leading Ryan through the small phalanx of computers. "There's no saying New York will be hit again, but we were the ones attacked, so you just never know. Now, some people, especially certain rural, Republican politicians will claim New Yorkers and their city are un-American. That we're elitist, East Coast liberals who don't know what America is all about. You know what I say to those people?"

Ryan shook his head. "No sir."

Mac put a hand on the shoulder of a shaggy haired young man, who looked more like Jesus than the cyber-security expert he was. "I say Fuck Them! Am I right Carter?" The bearded man gave him a, "fuck yeah" in return. Mac turned back to Ryan. "We were American enough for the terrorists to hit, so we'd better be American enough for those yahoos."

Mac continued walking and lowered his voice. "Carter back there? He graduated top of his class from MIT. Both times. Undergraduate and graduate degrees. He can hack anything, so he can also protect it. I don't care how many hand drawn super hero pictures he puts up, even the nudey ones, if it means he keeps all things quiet on the Eastern sea board."

Ryan just nodded his assent.

"You're a university student aren't you Ryan? You said that earlier. Where are my manners? What did you say you majored in?" Mac asked as he led Ryan through a door, and down yet another flight of stairs.

"I, um, I didn't." Ryan replied. Mac simply raised an eyebrow at him and Ryan took this as a sign to continue. "I'm doing a Masters in Biochemistry, but most of my work is on genetics. It's a hot time for the old biology with the chemistry, what with the whole mapping the genome craze."

"I see." Mac held open a door at the bottom of the stairs and ushered Ryan through. "And, is that what you intend to do, help unlock the secrets of our DNA?"

The temperature was quite a bit lower in their new location and Ryan was no longer sweating. The lack of perspiration, coupled with his own familiarity with his discipline of choice allowed him to speak confidently. "Yeah, yeah, I think so. It's one of the final frontiers you know? One of my classmates is actually working on a study that could indicate your favorite color is coded into you, not the result of some fond childhood memory or gender socialization. I mean, I know what you're thinking. Who cares right? What about stopping cancer. But, it's still pretty amazing."

Mac just offered him a half smile. "No, it is definitely amazing. And, I'll never have a bad thing to say about the work of geneticists. Your lot has advanced forensics for us by leaps and bounds. I worked the beat before DNA analysis kid, and let me tell you, it feels better knowing you definitely got the right guy."

Ryan hadn't been paying attention to where Mac was leading him, and he was surprised to be handed a lab coat.

"Can't go where we're going without one on," Mac explained.

Ryan stuffed an arm into the coat and pulled it on. "Oh, okay, sure."

"We also gotta wash our hands," Mac said, guiding him towards a surgical sink. "And, how are you with dead bodies?"

Ryan paused momentarily in front of the faucet. "Um, what?"

"Well we're about to go into the morgue," Mac stated while soaping up his hands. "A couple of my colleagues are observing an autopsy. Some people aren't made to deal with that kind of thing. Are you?"

"Oh," Ryan realized now why the temperature had dropped so dramatically. "Yeah, sure, I'm good. I did anatomy. Sadly, I've cut open and dissected enough stuff in the lab to be on a PETA watch list."

Mac just smirked at the joke and pushed the morgue door open with his foot. His hands he held aloft like a surgeon entering the OR. "Well, if you say so, but a human being is not the same as a frog my friend. Especially when they're a murder victim."

The first thing Ryan saw was the body. It was of course, impossible for his eyes to alight anywhere else. Whenever someone tells you; you don't want to see this, it is human nature to look. So, he did. But, only for a few seconds, he didn't even last long enough to determine the sex of the individual on the table. His gaze moved to the person bent over the body. He was a young, black man and he was elbows deep into the chest of a stranger. Standing around him, watching the spectacle was a pretty woman with very curly hair and blonde man with a distinct Brooklyn accent and glasses.

"Danny, Sofia," Mac greeted his co-workers. "Dr. Hawkes what have we got on tap today?" Mac draped an arm over Sheldon's shoulder.

"Well boss, that would be a stabbing, most likely with a really big, really serrated object, upon which you will probably find a piece of heart tissue." With a tug and a squish Sheldon produced the heart for Mac to inspect. "The killing blow punctured the heart, but as you can see, the killer took a little bit with him."

"Ah yes, I do see." Mac leaned in to get a better look. Then he turned back to Ryan. "I guess we've got a case of the telltale heart hey?"

Ryan, who was still recovering from the sound made by a heart that is being pulled from the human body, simply nodded and offered a weak, "yup" before bending over the nearest trash can.

"Who's the rabbi?" Danny asked.

Mac gave him a stern look, joke or not, he had PR to think about. "Everyone, this is Ryan Wolfe. Ryan is an old family friend of Janice O'Rourke, the latest victim of the Columbia serial. You alright Ryan?" Mac offered Ryan his handkerchief.

Ryan shook his head at the proffered cloth and swallowed hard. "It was just dry heaves," he said defensively. He hadn't lied, he was used to dissections. But, Mac was right, it was different when it was a human being, and Ryan was overcome when he'd realized Dr. Hawkes may have very well opened Janice up like that.

"We're very sorry for your loss Mr. Wolfe."

Ryan looked up. The woman with the curly hair had spoken. She was looking at him with what he was sure was meant to be genuine concern, but he had to wonder how often she had to say those words and make that face. Could it be real when it was part of the job?

"Thank you." He knew his gratitude must have sounded just as perfunctory and forced.

Mac walked towards the woman and indicated that Ryan should follow him. "Ryan, this is Det. Stella Bonasera, my right hand so to speak." Mac paused while Stella shook Ryan's hand. "And, this is Det. Danny Messer, though if he wishes to stay that way he's going to have to watch his mouth."

Danny looked understandably chided and shook Ryan's hand. "Sorry about the rabbi crack earlier." He pointed to the back of his head. "It's just when you bent over to puke all I could see was the headgear."

"Oh, yeah, no problem," Ryan replied while mirroring Danny's actions and raising his own hand to the yarmulke on his head.

"And this is Dr. Sheldon Hawkes," Mac said directing Ryan towards the man in scrubs. "Sheldon here was a child prodigy and became a surgeon by the time he was twenty-four."

This statement elicited a, "wow" from Ryan and an eye roll and a, "whatever" from Danny.

"Thanks for the compliments Mac, but we're sort of in the middle of something here." Sheldon was indicating to the body on his table with the heart he still had in his hands. "Mr. Baker here has all the time in the world. But, we don't if we want to catch his killer."

Mac raised his hands in surrender. "Sorry to interrupt, but I need something from you three."

The two detectives and the M.E. simply looked at each other.

Stella turned to Mac. "What do you need?"

Her tone of voice and the softness in her gaze told Ryan that Stella Bonasera was used to asking Mac Taylor this question a lot. He suspected she asked in many contexts, not just the professional one he was currently witnessing.

"Well, Ryan here seems to think that we're falling down on the job here at NYPD," Mac explained. Ryan's eyes grew large at this and he hoped to God no one pulled a gun. Danny certainly looked pissed. Mac seemed to pick up on the change in atmosphere around the room. "So, what I was hoping is that you three would consent to let him shadow you around for the day. Maybe, let him try out a few of the machine upstairs. Just no talking about the Columbia case. It's still active. Ryan's understands that, don't you Ryan?"

Ryan wasn't about to argue with any of them when he was this outnumbered. "Yes sir."

"Alright then," Mac had become jovial again. "I'll leave you four to it." He clapped Ryan on the back and left the room

xxXxx

Six hours later Ryan was once again sitting in front of Mac Taylor's desk. This time the detective chose to sit on the other side, ensconced amongst his honors, awards and knick knacks.

"So, Ryan, did you learn anything today?" Mac asked.

Ryan pulled off his yarmulke and played with it. He looked out the window instead of into Mac's eyes. "I know why you did this Det. Taylor. You wanted me to see that smart, capable people work in your lab. I think you also wanted to show me just how much work, much of it scientific, goes into modern police work. You've succeeded." Now he did turn to look at Mac. "What you haven't done, still, is capture the person who killed Janice. And, after what I saw today I'm sure you did not leave that crime scene, or as I know it, her home, empty handed. So, I ask you again sir, if you have the evidence, fifteen years worth of evidence, where is the arrest?"

Mac took a deep breath. He found Ryan's continued anger less confrontational now that the young man had decided that NYPD, or at least its crime lab, was not made up of half-wits and thugs. "Son, do you know what the hardest part of police work is?"

Ryan shrugged. He was tired of anecdotes and test tubes. He wanted justice. "Maybe getting shot at? I'm not really sure detective, but I bet you'll enlighten me."

Mac leaned across his desk and fixed Ryan with an earnest look. "It's knowing exactly who committed the crime, but being unable to prove it." He settled back in his chair, but his eyes never left Ryan's. "Yes, we've got fifteen years of evidence. And, we've got suspects. What we need to do is connect the dots, and sometimes that takes time. Because, it's not just about the arrest Ryan, it's about the conviction. I'm considered different from a lot of my peers. Know why?" He didn't allow Ryan to answer. "Because I like defense attorneys. A lot of people, especially cops think they're a pain in the ass. But, I don't, because I know the truth. The truth is, in this country you are innocent until proven guilty. Innocent, Ryan, that's not how it is a lot of places, and it's what makes this country great. It's my job, and my team's job, to prove that guilt. If a killer walks it's not because he had a great defense, it's because we messed up. A great defense lawyer only points out our mistakes. They keep us honest."

Mac let his previous statements hang between them for a beat before he continued.

"That's why it takes so long Ryan. Because I need to be able to guarantee the people like you, the people left behind, that I not only got the right guy, but that he's going to jail for as long as possible. Do you understand now?"

"I do," Ryan said. "But, I have one more question."

Mac nodded at him. "Go ahead."

"How do I do it too?"

Mac made a face. "Do what?"

Ryan gripped the edge of Mac's desk and leaned forward. "How do I do your job Det. Taylor? How do I become part of a team like yours? I could work in a lab like the ones you have here, I'm trained for it."

Mac looked taken aback, but recovered quickly. "Listen, Ryan, you've been through something very traumatic in the last little while. I think the best thing you can do right now is return to Florida, get your degree and let us handle this. I'm telling you it'll take time, but I will see to it that you, and your family, get to watch the man who killed Janice go to jail for it."

"What if I do that? What if I go back to school and I finish and I still want to do what you do? What then?" Ryan tried to make the older man understand just how serious he was.

Mac got up from his desk and walked around to squat in front of Ryan. "Then you have to ask yourself what it is you want. My team is made up of many different people, with many different skills. You met all three floors of them today. There are lots of ways to contribute. But, what it comes down to is, do you want to be out in the field, or do you want to be in a lab? Both are equally as important jobs, they're just different jobs."

Ryan thought for a moment. Dr. Sheldon "The Prodigy" Hawkes, the computer whiz Carter and the pretty girl in the finger print lab, they all played their part and they did it behind the scenes. But, they only got to solve crime, they couldn't prevent it.

"I want to be in the field," he stated firmly.

Mac blew out a breath. "Well, I won't lie. It'd help if you went into a police academy. And, that's a long haul Ryan. You'll need to make it in first, and then you'll have to complete training and walk the beat. It's how we all came up, and there aren't any exceptions. You're a smart kid, you could rise fast, but you could be in a lab right after you finish your Masters. Maybe that's the route to consider."

Ryan looked around the room and then fixed his gaze on Mac's. "I think, Det. Taylor, that today's lesson was that anything worth doing takes time to do it right. So, with all due respect, I'll do what it takes to make into the field."

With that Mac stood up and placed a hand on Ryan's shoulder. "Then, I wish you all the luck in world. Come on, it's getting late. I'll walk you to the subway. I would offer to buy you a hot dog, but you know…" he waved a hand at Ryan's outfit as he trailed off.

"What this?" Ryan ran a hand over his shirt as he stood. "It's just for show, I mean, I'm a Jew, but not practicing, whatever that means. I'm staying with family. It's out of respect really. I'd punch someone for a hot dog right now."

Mac started to laugh and pushed Ryan towards the door. "Let's go then. I don't want anyone getting assaulted over street meat."

xxXxx

Later that night Ryan lay alone in his aunt's spare room, and for the first time since Janice's death, he didn't fixate on her killer or what Mac Taylor was or wasn't doing. He was too busy making plans. It hadn't been a whim that led him to declare his intention to become a cop to Mac Taylor, he'd meant it. It would mean he'd have to go part time with his studies. He told Mac he'd wait to finish his degree, but nobody ever finished in the prescribed two years. That was the insider secret of grad school. It tended to drag itself out and die a long, slow painful death. And, he wanted to get started on his new path as soon as possible.

His parents wouldn't be happy. His friends would think he was crazy. He was a little worried about his sanity to be truthful. But, none of that mattered. What mattered was making sure Janice got justice and that whenever someone died violently at the hands of another the killer was apprehended. He knew his former shrink would say that he was obsessively fixating on Janice's death because it was out of his control, and he hated when things were out of his control. Dr. Stein would have told him to let go of the idea that he could have prevented her death, or could do anything to remedy it. He would have told Ryan to grieve, as that was natural and necessary, and then to move on. But, he couldn't, not this time. He could accept that murder would happen, but he couldn't sit around and do nothing about it. That night he fell asleep without crying. In his dreams he was wearing a uniform and searching for Janice. He could hear her screams, but he couldn't find her.

_I know I dreamed you a sin and a lie  
I have my freedom but I don't have much time  
Faith has been broken, tears must be cried  
Lets do some living after we die_

_Wild horses couldn't drag me away  
Wild, wild horses, well ride them some day_

_Wild horses couldn't drag me away  
Wild, wild horses, well ride them some day_

_TBC….in which this otherworldly- visitation induced flashback continues and we finally get to Valera._


	8. Chapter 8

Disclaimer: I own nothing associated with the CSI franchise. Title and lyrics are from The Clash song of the same name.

A/N: I'm thinking of writing a prequel to this from Valera's perspective. Or just a Valera and Ryan get together in season 3 story. Cause, I've been watching reruns and I think they would have been hot then. What say you?

A/N #2: I'm really sorry for not updating sooner for anyone who is still reading. The LSAT prep is killing me and work's been nuts. I tried to make this chapter extra long to make up for it. That said, it will probably be November before I can update again.

A/N #3: The tent city of sex offenders under the Julia Tuttle Causeway is real. I just made up the nickname and The Judge. Luiz is loosely based on the story of one of men the BBC interviewed when they investigated the tent city.

Chapter 8: Know Your Rights

_The liberals can understand everything but people who don't understand them._

_Take away the right to say fuck, and you take away the right to say Fuck the Government!_

-Lenny Bruce

_This is a public service announcement  
With guitar  
Know your rights all three of them_

_Number 1  
You have the right not to be killed  
Murder is a crime!  
Unless it was done by a  
Policeman or aristocrat  
Know your rights_

_And number 2  
You have the right to food money  
Providing of course you  
Dont mind a little  
Investigation, humiliation  
And if you cross your fingers  
_

_Rehabilitation_

_Know your rights  
These are your rights  
Wang_

_Know these rights_

_Number 3  
You have the right to free  
Speech as long as you're not  
Dumb enough to actually try it._

_Know your rights  
These are your rights  
All three of em  
It has been suggested  
In some quarters that this is not enough!  
Well.............................._

_Get off the streets  
Get off the streets  
Run  
You don't have a home to go to  
Smush_

_Finally then I will read you your rights_

_You have the right to remain silent  
You are warned that anything you say  
Can and will be taken down  
And used as evidence against you_

_Listen to this  
Run_

New York late October 2003

Ryan finished packing up, and disposing of, Janice's items after only five days in New York. He'd planned to leave town as soon as the job was complete, but fate, in the form of two of his former band mates intervened.

He'd been lying on the floor again in the center of Janice's apartment contemplating life when his cell phone rang. He'd expected his aunt to be on the other end, chastising him for his tardiness. It was Friday, and the Shabbat rituals would begin that night. It would be poor form to miss dinner. The number displayed on the face of his phone was not his aunt's however, nor was it immediately identifiable. He answered the call because he felt he had to do something besides just lie there, even if his next action was as insignificant as pushing a button and muttering, "Hello".

"You've got some fucking nerve you know that?"

Ryan jolted up, it was Adam. Adam Rosenberg. They'd known each other since childhood and their friendship had survived through four years at Boston University and a stint in a band. It was no small feat. If growing up didn't tear two people apart, playing in a band together most likely would. Ryan figured that the fact they'd never been successful musicians was probably the thing that saved their friendship. You couldn't get egotistical if there was nothing to crow over.

"Hello? Wolfe? I'm talking to you asshole!"

Ryan leaned against a box and recovered the power the speech. "Yeah, Rosenberg, I'm here."

In his own apartment in Brooklyn, Adam pulled the phone away from his ear and gave it a dirty look before continuing on. "No shit you're there. Or should I say here? What the fuck man? What am I a Jew?" Ryan rolled his eyes at Adam's favorite joke. "You're in New York and you don't call. Were you just gonna come and go without so much as a hello, or a fuck you?"

"Fuck you Rosenberg." Ryan replied dryly. "There are you happy now?"

"No I'm not happy. What the fuck man?"

Ryan rubbed his eyes and took a deep breath. "It's been heavy times the last few weeks man. I'm not here for pleasure. Its family related."

"I know why you're here." Adam's voice had become softer. "Our mothers still live in the same city Wolfe."

"Yeah, yeah I know," Ryan sighed. "Look, honest Rosenberg I wasn't planning on staying any longer than it takes to pack up her stuff. I've gotta bring it back to her family, and I'm suppose to be in school right now. Every day missed is another day that puts convocation a little further away."

"That sucks man. But listen, one more day or two isn't going to break you. Where are you now? What are you doing tonight?"

"I'm at her place. It's Friday and I'm staying with my mom's family what do you think I'm doing tonight?"

"No forget that noise. You're coming over here and hanging out with me and Sherman."

David Sherman had been their drummer. Now he and Rosenberg lived in a small two bedroom in Brooklyn in what was probably a nearly condemned building. While the other band members had given up the dream they continued to struggle on as musicians in New York. At least they did when they weren't busy bar tending, waiting tables and doing whatever work came their way to pay the rent.

Ryan looked around the room and tried to think of a way out of everything; Shabbat, hanging out with Rosenberg and Sherman, school, and life in general. Then he realized such morbid thoughts meant he shouldn't spend anymore time lying in the dark on Janice's floor staring at boxes.

He relented. "Okay, fine. But this is really gonna piss off aunty."

"Don't even go back there till you're ready to leave. Just stay here with me and Sherman. We're like five blocks away from The Heights so you're practically still at your aunt's anyway." Adam suggested.

Ryan gave a bark of laughter. "Dude, your place isn't even big enough for you and Sherman."

Rosenberg sat forward in his chair, which was admittedly crammed in a corner due to lack of space. "I resent that statement-

"You resent what?" David Sherman asked entering the apartment. He was carrying a small grocery bag containing an even smaller amount of groceries. Art was suffering after all.

Rosenberg pointed at the phone. "You'll never believe who I'm talking to-

"Who are you talking to?"

"Stop interrupting me with questions for Christ sakes. You're like my mother. I'm talking to Wolfe. Ryan Wolfe. Guess where he is-

"Where is he?"

"Fuck Sherman what did I just say about the questions?"

"What? I come home, with food, for you, I might add, and you yell at me. I ask you!"

"Exactly Sherman, that's all you do, ask me!"

Ryan smiled his first real smile in weeks. Or, at least, the first smile that didn't involve a lot of effort to pull off. Some things never change. Sherman and Rosenberg had been arguing like an old couple since they were twelve and David's family moved into their neighborhood.

"Rosenberg?" Ryan tried to get his friend's attention.

"Yeah I'm here, hold on," Adam put the phone down and looked at Sherman. "He's here in New York and he was going to just leave without even calling us."

Sherman's eyebrows disappeared into his hairline. "What? What? What?" He leaned down to the edge of the table where the receiver was and spoke into it. "Ryan, this is very unmensch behavior."

Rosenberg picked the phone back up. "Did you hear that? Sherman said that this is very unmensch behavior and I have to say I agree with him."

"Tell him I know and I'm sorry," Ryan said.

Rosenberg covered the mouthpiece and looked at Sherman. "He says he's sorry."

Sherman shrugged. "Well, sorry may not be good enough. Actions speak louder than words."

Rosenberg removed his hand from the mouthpiece and spoke to Ryan. "He says sorry isn't good enough."

"What? What does he want from me? I'm the one in the shitty situation. He could show some compassion." Ryan said defensively.

Rosenberg laid the phone on his shoulder. "He says he's the one in the shitty situation and you should be more compassionate."

"I can't demonstrate compassion to a person who never calls or visits can I?"

Rosenberg lifted the phone to his ear again. "He says-

"I can fucking hear him Rosenberg! You're in the same room, like one foot apart!" Ryan bellowed. "Hold the phone up."

"Why?"

"Just do it Rosenberg."

Adam did as he told and Ryan's voice boomed into the room.

"What's your problem Sherman? You sound like my seventy-seven year old great uncle when I fail to show up for Chabad functions. I'm going through some shit asshole!"

Rosenberg and Ryan both waited a few beats for Sherman's response.

"How is your Uncle Ron?"

Ryan put his face in his hands. "Jesus Christ Sherman. I'll be over as soon as I can. I'm in Manhattan."

xxXxx

When Ryan arrived at Rosenberg's and Sherman's building he was carrying two six packs of beer and a heavy conscience. He shouldn't have yelled at them. They were only concerned for him. He dropped one of the cases of beer to press the buzzer.

"Wolfe?" Sherman's voice crackeled with static down the intercom.

"Yeah it's me."

The door to the building buzzed and opened. Ryan entered and paused at the mailboxes to determine which apartment belonged to his friends. They'd moved house several times since landing in the city after university. They were constantly chasing cheaper rent or being chased out by gentrification. 9/11 had done nothing to stem the up-scaling of the cities worst areas under Giuliani. Now people who never would have set foot in Brooklyn in the eighties, or even have left the Upper West Side by choice wanted to live there.

They were on the sixth floor in apartment number nine. Ryan smiled at the dirty connotation behind the address 6-9. He would have bet his comic book collection on that having been the deal maker for Rosenberg.

He took the derelict elevator up the six flights and prayed it wouldn't strand him in a tiny box between floors. It was a merciful lift and deposited him exactly where it was supposed to and didn't even shut on his heels as most of its peers in the city were wont to do. He quickly found his friends' apartment and kicked at the door so he wouldn't have to drop the beer again.

Rosenberg and Sherman paused when they heard the kicking at the door. They knew it was Ryan and they felt a little bad. It was wrong to yell at a friend in mourning.

Rosenberg finally made a move towards the door. "I'll get it."

Sherman rushed after him. "We'll both get it."

They pulled open the door to reveal Ryan standing there looking bashful and holding out the beer cases in supplication.

"I'm sorry you guys," he mumbled.

"No, no, we're sorry." Sherman said. "We're just worried about you."

Rosenberg took the beer from Ryan and laid it aside. "Get in here you." He pulled Ryan into bear hug. Sherman followed suit and Ryan very nearly stated to cry. He knew he could in this company. If there was anything his people knew how to do well it was mourn and eat.

"I went back to the store after you called and got a bundt cake." It was like Sherman had read his thoughts. "You know, so we have something round to eat."

Ryan pulled away from his two friends and gave them a watery smile. "Janice wasn't Jewish Sherman. We're not required to sit Shiva."

"She was a top lady, so I'll honor her as best I can. She let me sleep on her floor and fed me for a week. A bundt cake is the least I can do."

Ryan nodded his agreement. "Yeah thanks."

"Well come on, come in, sit down." Rosenberg led Ryan into the tiny space that was his and Sherman's home.

Ryan surveyed the place and gave a low whistle. "If your mothers could see you now. Clearly, you never send pictures or invite them to stay."

Rosenberg opened up one of the cases of beer, extracted a bottle and sat on the couch. "Why do you think we move so much?" He popped the top of his beer and mimed speaking into a phone. "No Ma, don't bother dropping by, we're moving again, everything's everywhere."

Ryan and Sherman both sat down on whatever available services and furniture there was to be had and opened their own beers.

"So, Ryan, how are you? How are your mother and father?" Sherman asked. "This must be killing them."

Ryan played with his beer bottle and looked at the floor. "Yeah, they're pretty devastated. We all are. But, you know mom, she, she's not…she doesn't do well with anything to do with violence against women."

Sherman placed a hand on Ryan's shoulder. "Of course."

Rosenberg looked speculatively at his own beer. "So, uh, how's Rachel?"

Ryan gave him the side eye. Rosenberg had held a torch for Rachel since he was thirteen and he'd accidentally, on purpose, walked in on her exiting the shower.

"I swear to God Rosenberg this better be an innocent inquiry," Ryan started. "Because this is neither the time nor the place."

"I know that Wolfe," Rosenberg said holding his free hand up in a gesture of surrender. "I'm just asking on a scale of one to vulnerable enough to finally sleep with me where do I stand here?"

Ryan knew Rosenberg was only having him on. His friend deeply respected his loss. This meant he was being offered a chance to vent his rage and grief in a judgment free scenario. He took it gratefully and lunged for Rosenberg spilling his beer and his friend onto the floor.

Sherman watched his two oldest friends tussle on floor and sighed. "I'll get the bundt cake," He said stepping over the fighting men and walking towards the kitchen. "You two take your time."

Once Ryan and Rosenberg had both landed enough satisfying hits they retreated to opposite sides of the room. Their feet still touched.

Ryan propped himself up on one elbow and looked across the small distance to where Rosenberg was sprawled. "This place is a shit-hole man."

Rosenberg was lying face down and heaving. "I know."

Ryan sat up. "That couch better be comfortable enough to sleep on, because I'm staying the night."

Rosenberg rolled over and eyed him. "Good." He pulled himself to his knees and stood up offering Ryan a hand. Once they were both on their feet he called to Sherman in the kitchen. "You can come out pussy, and bring the cake."

Sherman let out a relieved sigh. His back was starting to hurt from being shoved up against the counter space. There really wasn't room enough for him and the cake in the kitchen. He brought the treat into the living room and sat it on the milk crate he and Rosenberg referred to as their coffee table.

"Ta da!" He said and laid it down with a flourish. "I'll be right back with plates and forks."

Ryan gave him a look. "Like you two shlubs have plates and forks."

"Fine," Sherman conceded. "I'll be back with napkins and a knife."

They ate the cake and drank some beer and eventually Ryan began to unwind. He started to enjoy himself so much he almost forgot what brought him to New York in the first place. Until Rosenberg pulled out a bag of weed and began rolling a joint. It wasn't like this was an unusual practice between the three of them, he just wasn't sure he could partake anymore. What if there was some kind of drug test to get into the Police Academy? But, then, it wasn't like he was going to be able to sign up to try out right away. It would be long out of his system by then.

Ryan agonized over what do while Rosenberg took a hit and handed the joint to Sherman. He knew what was coming. There was no one else but him to pass it to. Sherman inhaled and leaned towards Ryan.

Rosenberg watched him fret over the joint. "What's up man? Are you afraid aunty Mintz is gonna smell your clothes when you get back tomorrow? Forget about it man, she won't know."

Ryan wondered if he could tell his friends about his new life plan. It had been three days since he'd visited Mac Taylor, and for three nights he'd lain awake wondering if he was crazy to even consider joining the police force. If he had doubts he could only imagine his friends' reactions.

"No, no it's not aunty. I um, I've been thinking about job options and the place I wanna work it might not be cool with weed." Ryan said, stumbling through a half explanation.

Sherman's face lit up and he withdrew the joint from Ryan's eye line. "Really? A job? Doing what? Don't you have a year left to school though? Will they let you finish school? Are they paying you to finish? That would be very good my friend, very good."

Rosenberg threw up his hands. "Sherman, what have I told you about the questions? Always with the questions. Let the man finish." He indicated to Ryan to continue.

Ryan looked anywhere but his friends' faces. "Well, nothing's definite. And, it's really way off. I can't even start the application process till after Christmas."

It was true. He'd gone online at the library near his aunt's to look up the requirements for admission to the Police Academy in Miami. He'd missed the due date for January admission. It closed in mid-October. But, like many diploma programs it maintained a rolling admission. He could apply in January and start in April. April. It had to be out of his system by April. Basic science told him that. But what if they tested hair? What to do? What to do?

He reached for the joint. "Fuck it." He inhaled deeply and after several seconds exhaled in a well practiced manner. "Might as well get it while you can right?"

Rosenberg accepted the joint and took several quick hits. "Uh huh." He couldn't open his mouth long enough to say anything more. He exhaled and passed the joint to Sherman. "This is why we remain musicians. Yeah, the money sucks, and the chances are even worse. But, I do not have to quit smoking weed to go to work. In fact, it's kind of expected I show up high."

Sherman took a drag and offered his hand to Rosenberg for a high five. "We're living the dream my brother."

Ryan laughed and took the joint from Sherman. "Yeah, if the dream lives in a shitty, sixth floor walk up in the part of Brooklyn that harkens back to when New York was the mugging capital of the world."

His friends laughed at this and Ryan felt himself relax. He knew it was probably the pot, but he didn't care. He hadn't been calm in a month, and it was getting old. He took another hit off the joint and smiled lazily at his friends. He decided it was now or never.

"Yeah, it'll be hard, settling down to a real world job," he said and dragged on the joint again. Sherman and Rosenberg nodded there agreement. "Plus, I mean, I certainly never planned to be a cop."

Ryan made to hand the joint to Rosenberg but his friend was just staring at him paralyzed.

"Rosenberg, dude, here," Ryan nudged at his friend's arm with his elbow.

Rosenberg shook his head and took the proffered joint. "Jesus, I must be stoned because I just thought you said you were going to become a cop."

Sherman burst out laughing. "Oh, thank God you misheard too. I thought I was the only one."

Ryan swallowed and looked at them both. "You didn't. I'm gonna try out for the Academy when I get back to Miami. This whole thing with Janice it's really changed my perspective on things. I think I want to be a cop."

Rosenberg snuffed the joint in a beer cap they'd been using as an ash tray. "What. The. Fuck. What the fuck man? Is this one of your bits you do when you're high? This better be a bit."

Ryan sat up straighter. "It's not a bit. I mean it."

Sherman was too gobsmacked to speak. Rosenberg was talkative enough for the two of them. "You mean it? When did you mean it? Just now when you where doing illegal drugs? Are you fucking crazy?"

xxXxx

Was he fucking crazy?

Rosenberg wasn't the only one who had doubts about Ryan's sanity and his new "life choice". He had been debating with himself since he'd made the decision that day in Mac Taylor's office. He was currently somewhere between Boston and New York trapped on a rainy highway with a carload of Janice's things and his own tortured inner monologue.

_**Should I tell Ma and Dad? I can't not tell them. Dad's gonna yell so much. I can hear him now…**_

"Ryan what are you thinking? What's the matter with you?" Ryan did his best impression of Leonard before returning to his ruminations.

_**What am I thinking? Is this crazy? Cops are jocks with a gun. Aren't they? Mac wasn't, but he was obviously former military. What if it's like the army?**_

_**It's not like the army. That's stupid. They do good work Mac's team. I'll be on a team like that. Fuck, what if there's push ups involved? What if there's one handed push ups involved? I'm so fucked either way. Fucked with my parents, fucked with school, fucked, fucked, fucked. Shit, I'd better learn not to curse so much. Can cops curse? They curse on HBO. **_

As traffic began to move Ryan continued to worry about how he was going to pull this endeavor off. Being a cop appealed to the part of him that believed in superheroes. But, he was not Peter Parker. He wouldn't be able to pull of a secret identity and a double life; mild mannered scientist by day, crime fighter by night. He hadn't been bitten by a spider and blessed with super powers. He'd need to make it into, and attend the Police Academy, in order to chase down criminals. He couldn't hide such actions. His parents were paying for his graduate degree, and he doubted they would agree to pay for police training.

Rosenberg and Sherman's reactions had been bad enough. They'd screamed and yelled, well, Rosenberg had screamed and yelled. Sherman had mostly spent his time trying to calm Rosenberg while muttering at Ryan, "He's not entirely wrong you know". Their evening had turned into one of drunken debauchery as Rosenberg tried to show Ryan all the fun he'd miss out on as a cop.

After they'd left the fourth bar of the night Rosenberg had declared his intention to get them all arrested because, "You can't be a pig with a record Wolfe". But, try as he might there was little a nice Jewish boy from the suburbs could do while heavily inebriated that would phase New Yorkers, or their police force. Urinating on public property didn't get a second look from anyone. In the end Ryan and Sherman had just carried Rosenberg home and the only arresting thing about the evening was the caliber of headache Adam had the next day.

Ryan didn't think his mother and father would get drunk and pee all over the place when he told them the news, but he did expect screaming and yelling. He also anticipated disappointed looks, and maybe even a suggestion that they "get him help" again. The traffic in front of him came to grinding halt once again and Ryan slammed his head against the wheel, setting off the horn. It made a long, mournful and loud honking sound. The other drivers were probably looking at him like he was crazy. He didn't care. The sound summed up his entire life at that moment.

xxXxx

Miami Early March 2004

Once again there was a party raging in the home Ryan shared with his roommates. It was the first in what was to become a week long going away celebration for Ryan. The party's honoree was not, however, out mixing with the party goers. Instead, Ryan was standing in the middle of his bedroom trying to figure out if there was anymore packing he should be doing.

He surveyed his bedroom. There wasn't much left to pack up and move to his new apartment. Only his necessities remained in the home he shared with Chad and Raj. In a week's time he'd be moving into his own apartment and starting basic training through a joint police sciences program offered by the University of Miami and the Miami-Dade Police Department's Police Institute. He wasn't being forced out, not at all, he and his roommates would have preferred to live together till the bitter end of their mutual schooling, but it wasn't possible.

Once August rolled around Chad and Raj would be expected to turn in their graduate theses. Then they would be tossed into the job market. This meant neither of them could be sure they would be in Miami after August 31st, when the lease ran out. Ryan knew he would be. His training started in April and would continue until October. He needed a guaranteed place to live, and he also figured living alone was the way to go. He'd be keeping odd hours, and after the questioning looks and continued arguments with everyone around him about his choice to join the police force he was ready to live alone.

Ryan picked up his course information and realigned it on his desk. He flipped through the brochures for what must have been the millionth time. His acceptance letter was pinned on the wall in front of him.

_**Dear Mr. Ryan Jacob Wolfe, It is our pleasure to inform you that you have been accepted to the Police Sciences Diploma program…**_

His parents did not share his and the Miami-Dade Police Institute's enthusiasm. He tried not to hear his father's voice sneer the words "Police Institute".

"_**What is a Police Institute exactly Ryan? What kind of a degree is Police Sciences? Tell me which part is the sciences part?"**_

Ryan and his parents had been having the same argument since he'd returned from New York with Janice's belongings. The only thing that kept his parents from going completely ballistic and flying down to Miami to strong arm him back to Boston was the fact that Ryan had promised to complete his graduate degree. So far it looked as though he'd be able to keep his promise. He'd needed special permission to be enrolled in two programs at the same university but the heads of both faculties had been accommodating. Ryan figured it was in the university's best interests to allow him to potentially run himself into the ground. They would be getting two allotments of tuition from him while he tried to complete this monumental feat of human tenacity.

Leonard had agreed to pay for the rest of his masters program, but only for one more semester. In other words Leonard intended for his son to finish in the same time as a full time student. If not Ryan would be paying for his own folly.

Ryan hoped it wouldn't come to that. He'd had to take out a hefty student loan for the police program. Not because the tuition was high, it actually cost significantly less than his graduate degree. It was living expenses that bankrupted a person in Miami. He certainly didn't intend to live a flash lifestyle, but renting on his own was going to cost him. Their current house was owned by an Engineering professor who insisted his tenants be graduate students, and maintained a very reasonable rent to ensure this.

Ryan sat down on his bed with a sigh and wondered if he was doing the right thing. Deep down inside he knew this was the path he wanted to take, but it was hard to maintain his resolve when everyone he knew was opposed to, or puzzled by, his decision. This was why he was sitting alone, in his bedroom at his own party. He didn't want to face his school mates, or his friends, and have to answer their drunken questions about why he was going to become a cop. It was getting tired and old.

He'd expected their questions in the beginning. He'd been skeptical himself about his chances of getting into the academy. He'd been just as surprised as everyone else that he'd made it through the selection process. The written tests hadn't been hard for him. He was smart, that was his one constant in life. The application process had been simply a matter of filling out papers and mailing them on time. It was the actual physical try outs that had worried him. And, he knew that even though he'd been selected conditionally his parents held out hope that he wouldn't be able to perform up to the Academy's standards.

But, he'd been training and it had paid off. Once Ryan had been made aware of the physical requirements expected of new recruits he'd asked Chad to help him out. Chad had been reluctant at first. He didn't want to be a part of what he considered a huge mistake on Ryan's part, but eventually he relented. He and Raj had agreed that if they couldn't convince Ryan to change his mind they had to at least support his decision. Chad had just three months to get Ryan prepared for his entry into the Academy and it had taken the efforts of all three of them to ensure that things ran smoothly. Raj wasn't participating in the training, but he did organize and enforce their group study sessions. Time spent training was time taken away from their graduate work.

The regime was grueling but it was paying off. Ryan had only two thesis chapters left to write and he could do fifty push ups, one handed if necessary, without collapsing. That surprised and delighted him more than the prospect of submitting on time. He'd always been academically inclined. Like his parents he tended to live in his head. His brain was the part of his body that got the most exercise. Lately, that had changed, and his scientific mind had witnessed the transformation in his physical appearance and abilities in much the same way it observed the results of experiments.

It had been hard at first to even drum up the effort necessary to train. Chad had to assume a very authoritative role with Ryan that included dragging him physically from bed. Ryan had been amazed that Chad made time in his day for so much exercise. As someone who relied on their brain to get them through life Ryan had never really considered the body that important. Chad had explained why it was important to maintain a balance between the body and the mind during their first run together.

"It's just common sense dude," Chad had said as they ran around the campus track. "The body's a machine, the most incredible machine, and it needs exercise to work optimally. It deserves exercise because it's fucking amazing. Think about everything it does for you daily. You'd keep your car, house and computer in tip top shape right?"

Ryan could only nod. He was too out of breath to respond with words. He thought about his asthma, his short, well average, stature, 5'9 was average right? He remembered the four years he'd spent with braces. Then there was the whole OCD thing. His brain chemistry was part of his body and it had betrayed him in a most heinous way. What he couldn't tell Chad, not just because he was out of breath, but because it was not the kind of thing one said to another man, was that he hadn't really felt many reasons to celebrate his body.

Or perhaps it was better to say his genetics had betrayed him. Ryan knew plenty about genes and he knew a good deal of his were on the recessive side. He blamed society with its impossible beauty standards and his ancestors for engaging in too much Jew on Jew action. He watched his friend, 6'2 and attractive jog ahead of him and he felt like the only thing his body deserved was a good talking to.

_**Listen I don't care how many puffers we go through, I am going to work till I can keep up with Chad, so you'd better just get on board lungs. You too legs. **_

His lungs and legs did not fear him as much as he would have liked. When Chad finally called their run to an end Ryan could do little more than sprawl on the grass starfish style and try to catch his breath.

"I…can't…do…this." Ryan's words were punctuated with huge gasps for air. "There's…nothing…worth…this…torture."

Chad smiled and shook his head. "Yes there is." He reached inside Ryan's gym bag and withdrew his friend's inhaler. "You've already pissed off you parents and jeopardized your chances of graduating. If you want to be a cop that bad, you want it enough to endure some physical discomfort. Besides," he knelt on the grass next to Ryan and slipped his arm under the smaller man's neck, "chicks dig it when you're buff." He leveraged Ryan into a sitting position and stuck the inhaler in his mouth. "On the count of three dude, suck it like it's the first time you reached second base."

Ryan rolled his eyes at Chad's comment but did as he was told. He lay back down on the grass as the medicine expanded his airways and allowed him to breathe properly. Chad returned the inhaler to Ryan's bag and sat at his feet. He gently eased Ryan's knee to his chest in order to stretch out his friend's over- worked leg muscles.

"I wouldn't know anything about second base," Ryan mumbled. He wasn't sure why, out of all the conversation he could have made at that moment, he chose this topic.

Chad pushed Ryan's leg up at a ninety degree angle and eyed him. "Take a deep breath and get ready to pull your toes towards your ear." He waited for Ryan to comply and then pushed on his leg. "There's no good reason for you to be walking around a virgin dude. If I've told you once, I've told you a million times, just get in the game."

Ryan winced as his hamstrings protested against Chad's ministrations. "Easy for you to say. Fuck! Dude I want to keep that leg if you don't mind."

Chad just moved to the other leg and repeated the exercise. "Deep breath again, and, go." He pushed again, and again Ryan made a face. Chad released Ryan's leg and flopped down next to him. "I mean it man, you could have made it with a girl long ago. You're the one holding yourself back. Treat meeting women like your fixation on becoming a cop."

Ryan rolled onto his side and faced Chad. "What do you mean?"

Chad locked his hands behind his right knee and pulled his leg towards his chest. "This is the first time I've seen you be forceful about something you really want." He changed legs and repeated his actions. "Think of women the same way. You're capable of follow through man, you're proving it now."

"Force and women aren't something I like to think about together," Ryan said thinking about his mother's life work and all the values she'd instilled in him.

Chad moved into a lunge position. "No one's talking about that kind of force. You are capable of convincing two admissions boards they should let you do a masters, and now a, whatever a cop degree is. A girl's pants can't be harder to get into than graduate school."

"Do you even associate with any of the engineers you go to school with?" Ryan asked incredulously.

Chad smiled but his eyes were serious. "Look dude, it is one thing to be called a nerd. It's another to accept the limitations of the label. You haven't made it with a girl because you assume they don't want to make it with you. If you come off all woe is me, or never mind me I'm a nerd, why would you expect a girl to want to do you? It's like any negotiation process. You have to go into it acting like you're going to get what you want. Then you let them bargain you down to the outcome that's half of what you stated, but still more than then you expected to get."

Ryan wrinkled his nose. "That sounds sort of creepy."

"Not at all my friend," Chad replied while standing up and offering Ryan a hand. "Creepy is acting like a besotted sap five seconds after meeting a girl and then resenting her for not choosing the 'nice guy'. Girls don't want to be stalked by overzealous admirers who are socially inept. Girls being into stalking and love at first sight is shit they made up in romance novels."

"Then why do girls read them?" Ryan countered.

"Why do you read comic books? Do you really expect to be able to fly?" Chad asked rhetorically. "It's entertainment, but it's not reality."

"But, why would I act like King Stud when they're going to find out really quick I'm not?"

Chad picked up his bag and handed Ryan his own. "Not King Stud. That guy's trying too hard. Just don't act like your lack of experience is an issue either way. Most people are followers. If you panic or get worried about it, she will too. The best thing you can do is fake being calm and controlled in every situation."

"I guess." Ryan's agreement was as hesitant as his ability to believe his friend's advice.

"Okay, let me put it this way," Chad stopped and turned to look Ryan in the eye, "You know the guy you are when you're applying for scholarships, or doing whatever it takes to make this cop thing work out?" He waited for Ryan to nod. "Be that guy when you're talking to girls. Just, you know, don't talk about mapping the genome. Talk about the usual bullshit people talk about and be funny. Funny works for you."

This sounded more reasonable than the negotiation analogy. "I can do that," Ryan said.

xxXxx

A loud knock on his bedroom door caused Ryan to pause in his reminiscing. He knew it would be one of his friends come to admonish him for not partaking in the party atmosphere. He called out for them to come in anyway. It wasn't like he could hide. His door creaked open and someone called out, "Hey" to him. The person who followed the 'hey' was Stacy.

"Uh, hey what's up?" Ryan asked as if he didn't know why she was there. Clearly, Chad and Raj had sent their hot mutual friend of the female persuasion to convince him to come out of his room.

"Not attending your own going away party is very poor form," she joked.

"Yeah, I know, but I'm pretty sure there's another week of this planned isn't there? Missing one night isn't going to kill me. Probably the opposite actually, given how our friends party." Ryan matched her joking tone.

His door was still open and the pounding music, and loud screams which were filtering in seemed to only confirm the bacchanalian nature of the party.

Stacy made a mock embarrassed face and stepped into Ryan's room closing the door behind her. "Yeah, I guess I see what you mean." She was carrying an open bottle of wine that she plunked down on his desk. "Still you shouldn't just sit in here by yourself."

Ryan sat on his bed and tried to think of an adequate excuse. "Well, I'm afraid people will be smoking weed out there," he gestured to his open window, "and I've got to be careful about that. Even passive inhalation will make me flunk my drug test next week."

Stacy started to laugh and plopped down in the desk chair opposite his bed. "I'm sorry. It's just that… that's hysterical coming from you."

Ryan laughed too and acknowledged the irony. "Yeah, me and Mary Jane had a long and beautiful relationship that began in my friend Adam Rosenberg's back garden when we were fifteen." Stacy giggled again. "But we decided to see other people. It's been nearly six months now."

"Well, as long as you're over her I support your decision." Stacy replied. "Are you broken up with Lady Vino too?" she asked brandishing the wine bottle at him.

Ryan took the proffered bottle but didn't sip from it. Instead he studied it. "No, I still love the Lady but she's too much woman for me."

"What do you mean?" Stacy leaned to the edge of her seat.

"Well, after we finish I'm usually incapable of speech and just want to sleep."

"So basically you have the same reaction every guy does after he's had a woman." Stacy stated while crossing her legs. "Sounds like the wine has nothing to do with it."

Ryan swallowed hard and tried not read too much into her comments. She had gotten use to hanging out with the boys as an engineer. It meant she could be as harmlessly raunchy as the next guy.

"Uh, yeah I guess so," He mentally kicked himself for stuttering through most of that uninspired statement.

"Anyway, Chad and Raj are making people take their pot outside in deference to your situation." Stacy hadn't noticed his momentary discomfort, or she chose to ignore it. "You can't even smoke tobacco inside. You can come out and play amongst the rest of us. It's safe."

Ryan decided to tell her the real reason he wasn't up to leaving his room. At least then she could go back to the festivities knowing she'd given it her best shot. "Look, Stace, I'm glad everyone cares enough to throw me a party. A week of parties no less. But, I know if I go out there I'll be the center of attention."

Stacy reached out her hand for the wine bottle and Ryan handed it over. "That's kind of what happens when it's a party for you." She said and took a swig of wine.

"Yean I know," Ryan rubbed his neck and tried to explain. "Thing is, this isn't a birthday party or a graduation. People aren't going to be congratulating me. Well the really drunk people might. But, I can guarantee everyone's gonna start questioning why I want to become a cop and I'm tired of dealing with it. I made my decision, I'm living with it, and I'm over having to defend it."

Stacy's face became serious. "No, of course not, I mean that's totally understandable." She looked around the room and her eyes fixated first on Ryan's acceptance letter, then on Ryan himself. "Do you mind if I hang out for a bit then? I promise I won't ask you why you want to be a cop. It's just everyone will be splitting up after the summer and it's hard to find time to see everybody and get schoolwork done. You kinda gotta take it where you can get it."

Ryan smiled at her. He wasn't going to kick her out even if her original goal was to get him out of his room. She was a friend, albeit a smoking hot friend, and she was telling the truth. Pretty soon they'd all have to say good- bye, even after Ryan was gone.

"Sure thing," he replied. "And, you're right, so tomorrow night whatever Chad has planned, I'm there. You won't be tasked with dragging me kicking and screaming into the fray like tonight."

Stacy smiled a slow smile and ran a hand threw her hair. "But, I didn't come in here to drag you into the fray."

Ryan could have sworn there was something seductive in the way she said that, but then this was Stacy. She could have said, "Pass me the ketchup" and Ryan would've thought it sounded sexy.

"I just wanted to hang out a little before you left us all for the Academy." She said and took another sip of wine. "I couldn't find you out there, so I figured this was where you were."

He wanted to make a witty comment about not being missed at his own party, but all that came out was, "Oh."

Stacy panned around the room again as if looking for a topic of conversation. She noticed the crates piled up against his far wall and made a sound of shock and awe. "So, there are the records Raji and Chad keep talking about!"

Raji was her pet name for Raj. Raj preened every time she employed it. Ryan thought it was a wonder his friend didn't come barging in through the door to ascertain what it was Stacy needed him for. Ryan watched as she crossed the room and bent over the crates full of Janice's albums. He'd moved everything else but his toiletries and his bed to the new apartment. The records he kept with him. He hadn't been joking when he'd decided that day in her apartment to never be parted from them.

"Is it okay if I touch them?" Stacy asked from her prone position.

"Uh, yeah sure." He couldn't say no to her ass, and as she was bent over that particular piece of her body was on full display. "You can, um, play one if you want." He mumbled while willing his blood not to run south.

"Really?" She came back up tossing her hair out of the way. "How? I thought you moved Janice's record player and speakers to your new place."

He was momentarily unable to speak because he was battling back a hard on, but Stacy mistook his silence for anger at the mention of Janice's name. Her death remained a touchy subject with Ryan. They had all tried to get him to open up and talk about it, but he was cagey to say the least, about the whole thing.

"I'm sorry Ryan, I just, I wasn't thinking. I didn't mean to bring her up or touch her things." Stacy moved away from the records and towards her friend to try and smooth things over.

Ryan backed away from her fearing that if she got too close he'd embarrass the both of them with the tent that was currently pitching itself in his gym pants. He wished he'd had the forethought to put on jeans after his post- workout shower. As Stacy came nearer he dropped to his knees to retrieve something from under his bed. He counted to ten and took deep breaths hoping his body would relax. He wasn't successful, but he stood up anyways, and held the object he'd pulled from beneath the bed out to her at arms length.

"Here!" Ryan practically threw the thing at her.

Stacy caught it and stumbled back a little. He felt like an idiot, but at least she was too distracted to notice what was going on below his waist.

"Ryan what are you doing? What is this thing?" Stacy asked as she dropped the heavy object on his desk.

Once she'd gotten over her initial shock at having something heavy and square thrown at her she took a closer look at what she'd caught. It reminded her of her grandfather's brief case except it was hot pink and more rounded around the edges. She gave Ryan a quizzical look.

"Open it," he urged, once again directing her eyes off of him and onto the thing on the desk. "Just push in on those handles."

Stacy did as he bid and she watched as the case sprung open to reveal a phonograph. She broke into a huge smile and ran her hands over the antique. "Ryan, is this a record player? Does it work? Was it," she wasn't sure if she should say the name, "was it Janice's?"

To her relief he smiled back at her. "Yeah it was. Her first one. See, the turn table is in one side of the case, and the speakers are in the other. There's even a plug for headphones on the side, believe it or not." He risked moving closer to her to point out the machine's features. "This was what a portable CD player looked like in 1974."

The engineer is Stacy was thrilled with the machine. "Does it work?" she asked with hopeful eyes. Of course, she'd be equally happy if it didn't. "If it doesn't I can fix it, I promise. I'll bring my tools tomorrow. Seriously, Ryan you know me, electrical is my thing."

He laughed at how earnest she was. "Well, technically you're a mechanical engineer M' lady. But, it doesn't matter. The record player works. I've been using it since we moved my other stuff to the apartment."

He still felt an obsessive need to listen to the Stones every night. He just had to do it with headphones on now because Raj had complained about the repetitive nature of Ryan's selections, "I understand that Mr. Jagger is a very talented man, but I cannot take the same whining over horses and ladies every night Ryan".

"Can we put it on now? Please?" she accented her plea with wide eyes and pouty lips. "I just want to see it work."

"Of course," his voice was a less- than- manly squeak. "Pick something out and just flip this switch," he motioned to the mechanism that turned the player off and on, "and then voila! Well, once it's plugged in, voila!"

"Excellent!" Stacy immediately raced back to the cartons of records and Ryan made a beeline for his bed. He desperately needed to put some distance between them. While her back was turned he attempted several variations of sitting positions meant to infer a casualness he didn't feel.

Stacy continued not to notice his distress and picked through the records. "Do you care what I put on?"

"Not at all." He really didn't. He could care less as long as she occupied herself long enough for him gain some control over his mutinous body.

Unfortunately, Stacy seemed to have very particular taste and she found what she was looking for immediately. Ryan watched as she flounced excitedly over to the record player and plugged it in. Next, she hit the power and set the record on the turn table. She picked up the needle to position it on the album but stopped and turned toward Ryan.

"Which knob is the volume?" she asked.

"It's right next to the power switch." Ryan said without moving from his place on the bed. He was too busy trying to lounge in a devil may care sort of way to get up.

"Oh right, here we go then." Stacy turned the volume up as high as it would go and dropped the needle gently onto the vinyl.

Ryan listened as Brian Mays' guitar let off the opening riffs of "Tie Your Mother Down" and Freddie Mercury loosed one of his trade mark screams out of the speakers.

Stacy started to dance toward the bed. "I love Queen! Aren't they awesome?"

Ryan tried to ignore her gyrations. "Yeah, but _A Day at the Races_? That's a bold choice." If he couldn't ignore her he could at least employ misdirection tactics.

Stacy frowned at him. "I can't hear you," she called over the music and continued dancing.

So much for misdirection. "Maybe we should turn it down." Ryan called back.

Stacy just rolled her eyes and danced her way over to the bed. Once her knees hit the end of the bed she crawled up onto the mattress with Ryan. "Why bother? It'll just get drowned out by the music they're playing in the living room if we do that. I'll just come closer." She was stalking towards him like a cat.

"Uh, okay." Ryan had backed up against his headboard the moment she'd made contact with the bed. He'd stopped being able to feign nonchalance the moment her body made contact with his bed.

She lay on her side and looked up at him. "Now, what was it you were saying?"

Ryan tried to gather his thoughts, and remember that seeming rigid, in every sense of the word, did not denote coolness. "I, um, I was just saying that _A Day at the Races_ is a risky choice when trying to make the case for Queen. Rolling Stone totally panned it in 1977 you know."

"Whatever," Stacy scoffed. "Rolling Stone is a bunch of music dorks, sitting around passing judgment on stuff they'd never have the guts or talent to do."

Ryan laughed at this and he felt some of his nervousness disappear. "Yeah, I feel the exact same way. Music critics are jerks that never learned to play an instrument and are jealous of everyone who did."

"Spoken like someone who knows how to play an instrument." Stacy said stretching out on the bed. "Did your band get bad reviews?"

Ryan couldn't tear his eyes away from the patch of stomach that was revealed by her movements. "Um, no, we, uh, we, were never important enough to get reviews. You have to uh, cut a record to get reviews."

She rolled over and her hair obscured her face. "Still you guys tried and that's more than I bet two thirds Rolling Stone's staff then, and now, could say for themselves." She peaked out at him from under her hair.

"Yeah I guess so."

Ryan wanted to say something more relevant or illuminating, but he didn't know how to manage this conversation because he didn't know what kind of situation he was presently in. Chad had told him to be confident and funny when addressing a woman, but that supposed the woman involved was one he'd potentially date. Stacy was his friend, not a potential lover. Her actions and words seemed suspect, but he couldn't be sure. Was she really here just to spend time with a friend she'd soon see less of, or was there something more going on?

"But that's the hardest part isn't it?" She asked while straightening up onto her knees to face him.

"What is?" Ryan had been too busy analyzing Stacy's motives to listen to what she was saying.

"The hardest part is being brave enough to get up there on stage in the first place." She said while, much to his amazement, straddling him where he sat. "Some people are too scared to go after what they want." She leaned in and gave him a rather chaste kiss on the mouth. "I'm not." This was followed by a rather unchaste kiss.

Ryan was too shocked to do anything but let her kiss him. Eventually he felt his mouth respond of its own accord. Then his brain and body seemed to meet somewhere in the middle, and he was able to wrap his arms around her and participate fully. But, his brain as usual won out and Ryan pushed Stacy away as far as he could without actually breaking physical contact.

"What's wrong?" Her eyes were heavy with bewilderment and her mouth was swollen from their kisses.

He fought the urge to scream, "nothing" and continue on. "Stace, what are you doing? What about Chad?"

"What about Chad?"

Ryan was stunned. It was an open secret amongst them all that Chad and Stacy had a flirtation, or relationship of some sort, going on.

"Ryan, Chad and I aren't an item." Stacy said trying to kiss him again.

Ryan puts his hands on her face and held her back. "Stacy, maybe you guys aren't an item. But you're something, and I don't really want any part of that. Chad's been a good friend to me. So have you."

She smiled at the compliment and the nobility behind his reasoning. "Chad and I haven't been anything, at least not since a few weeks after we met. I learned pretty quickly that I'd always play second fiddle to the flavor of the week. I don't really care for being second fiddle."

Ryan wasn't entirely convinced. He wanted to be so they could get back to their previous activities, but his brain remained a hold out. "I'm sure you don't. But, if there's nothing going on between you two why does everyone assume there is?"

Stacy cocked an eyebrow and grinned at him. "Well, you know what they say about assuming Ryan. I think it has something to do with making an ass out of both of us."

His eyebrows mirrored hers. "Come on Stace. There's also a saying about smoke leading to fire."

He laughed a little at this. "Okay, you're right. I haven't done much to discourage the rumors about me and Chad. But, that's because in our department it helps to be viewed as a taken woman. You get more respect that way."

"So, you and Chad were never together?" Ryan's question sounded more like a statement.

"No. Well, only for a quick minute, then I got wise to his game and beat him at it." She tossed her hair triumphantly as Freddie Mercury continued rocking in background.

"But, did you guys ever…" Ryan wasn't sure how to finish that thought.

Her face displayed the disbelief she felt at his unspoken question. "Are you asking a lady about her past experiences?"

Ryan shook his head. It was best not to tempt, or anger, fate. "No ma'am."

Stacy seemed pleased with his backpedaling. "Good." She dropped a few kisses on his jaw line before running her tongue along the shell of his ear. "And, for what it's worth, I never let Chad have his way."

Ryan felt his heart and other parts of his anatomy buoy up even further. He wasn't sure how far whatever they were doing was going to go, but he had a feeling it would still be further than Chad ever got with Stacy. His mind reeled at the implication and he smiled like fool. Then he kissed her like he meant it.

From that point on things seemed to progress at a rate that was both achingly slow and astonishingly fast. Ryan had no idea how Stacy had managed to produce a condom at the crucial moment, but he didn't care. Nothing was more important than what was about to happen, but before it did he mumbled, "I'm probably not going to be very good at this". There was no room left in his head for Chad's advice.

Stacy had simply smiled. "That's okay. I know. Besides, I can be good enough for the both of us this time."

Then there were no more words, just sensations, and Ryan thought he knew what it felt like to be Neil Armstrong taking those first steps on the moon.

Afterwards, consciousness crept back and Ryan's mind again began to whir. "Stacy?" He mumbled the question while nuzzling her hair. "At the risk of sounding like a woman…what are we doing here?" He couldn't move to face her, and she didn't lift her head from his chest, so he continued to address her hair. "I'm really grateful you came here tonight, you have no idea, but I can't…I mean I'm moving in a week, and right now I can't…"

He trailed off because he couldn't say, "I can't feel things properly right now". Since Janice's death he'd been numb to anything but the most extreme of emotions. Between the moments of rage, anxiousness and melancholy there was no room left for another soldier on the battlefield inside him. Love had no choice but to sit this one out.

Stacy did sit up now, and he worried that when their eyes met there would be resentment in hers, but to his relief he saw only understanding in her face.

"It's okay Ryan," she murmured. "I'm not looking for anything from you. I just couldn't send you out into the world unprepared for it. I'd be a terrible friend otherwise. Let's just take this week and make it good okay?"

He'd agreed and they had. Ryan attended the rest of his parties as promised and every night after the festivities had died down Stacy managed to find him. He wondered often during that week what it was they, or more specifically, she was doing. Had she simply wanted to ensure he wasn't virgin as a young man about town on his own, or did the word unprepared have some deeper meaning? Regardless, he was thankful for her efforts as they provided him with brief, yet ecstatic moments during which the armies inside him laid down their arms.

The last time he saw her was a month after he'd moved into his new apartment. They'd recently ended their physical relationship in favor of spending time as good friends saying good- bye. It was a nice, sunny, Miami Saturday when he'd shown up at her place with a parting gift. The box he handed Stacy contained Janice's hot pink turntable and her Queen albums.

xxXxx

Late October 2004

The oppressive temperatures usually reserved for summer were still bearing down on Miami and it was making everyone a little irritable. Ryan included. He'd been on edge for the entire month. If it wasn't the heat, it was the job, if it wasn't the job, or the heat, it was remembering Janice had been dead for exactly one year that made his temper flare. Currently all three irritants were pressing against him and he let out a long sigh.

"You okay Rookie?"

Officer Jerome Perry was his direct supervisor today. Ryan was now able to perform most patrols alone, but he still had to ride along at regular intervals for review purposes. It was largely a formality as Ryan had excelled in all of his hands on training. He'd been delighted to find out that while he was not the biggest, or strongest, recruit Miami Dade PD had gotten that year, he was certainly amongst the smartest. Still, rules were rules, and there was procedure to follow. Perry had volunteered to supervise Ryan on one final shift before the rookie would be cut free to do exclusively solo patrols.

Ryan stared blankly out of the passenger side window. "Yeah, I'm fine, it's just the heat."

"I hear that," Perry said while making a left hand turn. "Air conditioner's on max though brother. It can't get much colder in here."

"I know, I just mean the heat in general." Ryan's explanation was as vague and deflated like his mood.

"Best get used to it Rookie. This is Miami."

Any reply Ryan might have wanted to make was cut off by the sound of their radio going off.

_**Car 105 10-20. Car 105 10-20**_

Perry grabbed the two- way from its place on the dash. "10-4 this is Car 105. Our 20 is headed east on the 1-95 towards the Tuttle en route to Miami Beach."

_**10-4 105. 20 confirmed. We've got a 10-31, possible 187 under the Tuttle. You're up. Back up is rolling as well. 84 is ten minutes rolling from Biscayne. No confirmed 10-32 but stay alert.**_

"10-4 dispatch. We're rolling." Perry replied while turning on the lights and siren.

_**10-4 that Car 105. 84 please.**_

Perry executed a left hand turn that sent Ryan up against the passenger window before responding. "E.T.A approximately three to five minutes."

_**10-4 Car 105. 23 when you get there.**_

"10-4 dispatch. Will do," Perry jammed the two-way back in its holder with a curse. "The fucking Tuttle Tents. Just where I wanted to go today. We pulled a shit run Rookie."

The Tuttle Tents was the nickname given by law enforcement to a squatter community living under the Julia Tuttle Causeway. A small, but growing number of convicted sex offenders who had served their time, but were legally unable to live within 2500 feet of children had decided to cobble out an existence under the Tuttle. Dead bodies were a regular occurrence in the camp, but murder was rarely the cause of death. Exposure, hunger and suicide were the most likely killers.

Ryan knew that expressing his true feelings about the situation under the Tuttle would only cause friction between himself and Perry. He simply sighed, and nodded in a manner that could be construed as agreement.

They arrived within the five minutes predicted by Perry and radioed dispatch to confirm their location. Back up screamed in just two minutes later to Ryan's relief. He wasn't afraid to secure a scene, but dispatch's details on the crime had been sketchy, and he suspected desperation would prove to be the root of this incident, a feeling which made average men, let alone convicted offenders, dangerous.

He and his fellow officers immediately began to disperse, guns drawn to clear the scene. Twenty or so ill-kempt, and scared looking men, quickly raised their hands and backed away from a body lying prostrate on the ground.

Ryan was the first to approach. He wondered if Perry was hanging back in order to evaluate his performance, but shook the thought off. This wasn't about him; it was about the man lying on the ground. Protect and serve, that was his job now, and it didn't matter what the victim might have done while alive.

"I want everyone down on their knees, hands on your heads where we can see them!" Ryan called to the by-standers. Anyone of them could be responsible for the crime. Or this could all turn out to be another death by harsh living, either way he needed them calm and compliant.

The men did as they were told and Perry and the rest descended on them. Ryan watched as the cuffs came out.

"Hey, hey!" he screamed.

"What is it Rookie? Someone armed?" Perry called back.

"No! All hands are accounted for. We haven't determined these men did anything wrong. As long as they agree to stand back, and let us clear the scene for Homicide and CSI there's no need for cuffs." Ryan said while heading towards Perry.

Perry's face was a mask of anger and confusion. "Do you know where we are Rookie? These bottom feeders are familiar with cuffs. They can take it."

Ryan fumed and debated whether he should push the issue. There was no way Perry could know every single one of these men was a squatter or a convicted felon. Some of them might just be homeless. But, then again, if one of them was the killer not cuffing them might make for an easy escape. The decision would have been easier if Ryan wasn't already aware of the reputation this camp, and its inhabitants, had with the force and Perry's own personal distaste for place.

"Fine. Whatever you say. Cuffs it is." Ryan didn't push the issue. He'd only wind up standing alone, like the proverbial cheese. He saw no signs of solidarity from the other twelve officers present.

But, it left a bad taste in his mouth. It was a taste he was becoming used to. The heat was getting to him, the reminder of Janice's death was ever present in the back of his head, but mostly the job was frustrating him. It wasn't turning out to be as noble, or even as engaging as he'd hoped. He was tired of feeling like the odd man out amongst his co-workers. His smarts and his conscience seemed to act against him in most situations, and he was beginning to believe his father would prove to be right after all.

_I told you so….._

It was too horrible to contemplate. He refused to see his choice to become a cop as a mistake. He couldn't control the fact that most of his colleagues saw things in extreme black and white, nor could he change the fact that before training most of their credentials included only high school. He had to keep his eye on the prize, and believe that once he became a criminalist being able to see the shades of grey in life would work to his advantage.

Once the scene was clear, and the men in handcuffs, Ryan and the other Patrol officers started to take statements. Ryan was tasked with questioning a man named Luiz who claimed to be thirty-three, and a former Marine.

"So…Luiz, you wanna give me a last name?" Ryan asked. He knew that unless he could tie the man to the crime it was unlikely he'd get a full name.

The man who called himself Luiz simply laughed. "Not a chance. I'm where I am because of the law. I got a wife and kid you know, a daughter, she's fifteen and I'm living in this shit hole because Town Hall says I can't live within 2500 feet of a minor."

Ryan raised an eyebrow in response and scribbled down notes furiously. If they did need Luiz later, best to know as much as possible about him in lieu of a real name. "Well, Mr. Luiz, the reason you can't live with your family, is, I would imagine, because you are a convicted sex offender. And, probably committed that crime against a minor no less."

"You listen to me," Luiz paused to read Ryan's name tag, "Officer Wolfe," the name was sneered like an insult. "That minor, as you call her, was sixteen and well aware of what she was doing. It was consensual too. First she broke up my marriage, and then she landed me in jail when I wouldn't leave my wife for her."

"Yeah, yeah, yeah, it's not your fault. It never is with you guys." Ryan replied flippantly while making more notes.

Luiz's hands where bound behind his back but he still got up in Ryan's face. "I made a terrible mistake, but I didn't rape anyone. Understand?" He shoved the notebook and pencil out of Ryan's hands with his body. "Do you understand Officer Wolfe?"

Ryan backed away, but only slightly and positioned himself more solidly against another impact. "Don't do this Luiz," he kept his voice calm. "You made a terrible mistake, I get it. Don't make another. If I was any one of these other officers you'd be on your face with a gun at your neck right now. Do you want that?"

Luiz backed away, but he became even more agitated. "I served my country man! I was a Marine!"

Ryan stowed his notebook in his pocket and put up his hands in surrender. He didn't want Luiz to attract his fellow officers' attention. "Okay, okay, I hear you. You were a Marine, I respect that. I respect you."

"You respect me?" Luiz screamed the question, and to Ryan's jargon the other tent tenants and cops around started to notice the man's outburst. "You respect me? Just like you respect Robert over there?" Luiz pointed at the dead body beyond the police tape. "He was murdered man! Someone's been coming in here killing us, because we're everybody's monsters and you pigs don't care! There's a dead body everyday, one way or the other! No food, no toilets, no shelter! If the place don't kill you The Judge will!"

"What's going on here?" Perry was now between Ryan and Luiz. "Settle down sir. Don't make me have to subdue you!"

"Perry wait!" Ryan pushed his supervisor out of the way.

Perry didn't turn away from Luiz but he addressed his next remark at Ryan. "Back up Rookie, you lost control of this situation. I'll handle it from here."

"No! Wait! He says someone is killing off camp residents!" Ryan shoved his way between Perry and the now cowering Luiz. "Just let him finish. He'll calm down." Ryan turned to Luiz. "Won't you Luiz? You'll tell us about how Robert died right?"

Perry made a face. "Rookie who the fuck is Robert?"

Now Ryan couldn't control his own anger. "Who the fuck is Robert?" he mimicked Perry's cold tone. "Robert is the fucking dead guy, that's who Robert is! Or maybe you've forgotten that's why we came out here in the first place!"

Ryan heard two things at once as Luiz whimpered something behind him and Perry started admonishing him for ignoring direct orders.

"Shut up!" he yelled at Perry. He was already in trouble, so he might as well do his best to retain his witness. He knelt down by Luiz. "What did you say?"

Luiz hesitated for a few beats. "Simmons. His name was Robert Simmons, and The Judge killed him."

"Who's The Judge Luiz?" Ryan put a hand on the man's shoulder. "I don't understand."

Luiz just shrugged. "Dunno. No one does. That's why we call him The Judge."

Ryan shook his head. "Why The Judge? Why that name?"

Luiz's explanation came out in a paranoid rush. "Because, he judges us. That's the story round camp anyway. He hates us, because of our crimes. He hunts us. And the cops just act like all those dead bodies died of starvation."

"I see," Ryan stood up and pulled Luiz with him. "I tell you what Luiz I'm gonna make sure this gets investigated okay?"

Perry burst out laughing. "You don't really believe this crazy talk do you Rookie? Listen man, they're always gonna try and play you. You've got to be more savvy."

Ryan walked towards Perry and lowered his voice to a hissing whisper. "Work with me Perry. If we tell them we'll look into it they'll be more cooperative. If it turns out there's something to his story then that's all the more reason to investigate."

"Investigate what Rookie?" Perry didn't bother to lower his voice. "The fact that someone's bumping off child molesters?" Now it was Perry's turn to scream. "Who gives a fucking care Rookie? Why not throw them a parade?"

Ryan was about to jump in with an equally loud and witty retort when the sound of a throat clearing and a firmly stated, "Enough, Gentleman", stopped him.

Ryan and Perry both turned to face a red haired man holding a pair of sunglasses. They instantly recognized him as Lieutenant Horatio Caine; head of the Miami Crime Lab. It would seem CSI had arrived while Ryan and Perry had been bickering.

"To answer your question Officer Perry," Caine paused to place his aviators on the bridge of his nose. "We give a care, that's who."

xxXxx

Ryan had expected to face disciplinary measures after the incident at the Tuttle Tents so he wasn't surprised when he received summons to Head Detective Yelina Salas' office. When he arrived the homicide detective greeted him with a firm handshake and told him to sit down. Ryan took a seat at Salas' desk and felt a vague sense of déjà vu. It was just a year earlier that he'd sat in the same manner, in nearly the same spot in Mac Taylor's office. He mused for a few seconds on the difference a year makes before Det. Salas interrupted his thoughts.

"Do you know why you're here Officer Wolfe?" Salas asked in her softly accented English.

"Yes Ma'am," Ryan figured it was best to be respectful and honest. "I'm here because I disregarded direct orders from a superior when investigating a 187 at the Julia Tuttle Causeway…Ma'am."

Yelina smiled at the double use of "Ma'am" and his formality. She'd heard rumors about the rookie's above average intelligence and it was reflected in the way he articulated himself.

"Well, we are here to discuss the Tuttle incident. But, I'm not going to reprimand you, except to say that fighting with another officer, superior or not, in front of witnesses and possible suspects is not considered good police work." Yelina said, while flipping through her file on the Tuttle case.

Ryan hung his head. "Yes Ma'am, I understand." Once he'd gotten over the initial criticism he realized she'd implied he wasn't actually in trouble. His head shot up. "But, Detective Salas, if I'm not here to face disciplinary action, why am I here?"

Yelina laid down the Tuttle file and reached in her drawer for another. She placed it next to the case file on her desk. "Well, Officer Wolfe, while some of your fellow officers were displeased by your actions last week, someone else was impressed by them."

Ryan's eyes widened. "Really? Who?"

"Lieutenant Caine from the Crime Lab." Yelina flipped open the second file, which contained Ryan's professional records. "He doesn't know I'm relaying this information to you, but I think you could be of benefit to each other." Yelina paused to see if Ryan had any response, but the young man was just staring at her blankly so she continued. "One of Lieutenant Caine's team members was killed in the line of duty recently. Detective Tim Speedle."

Recognition flashed across Ryan's face. "Yeah, I remember that. It was just after we graduated from the Academy. They asked some of us cadets to do the gun salute at his funeral. I was on Patrol that day so I couldn't."

"Yes, well, replacing Speed has proven challenging for Hor-Lieutenant Caine," Yelina's words seemed to stumble for a moment. "And as a result his team's been understaffed and overworked for a few months now."

"I see." Ryan said slowly. Then he reconsidered his answer. "Actually, I don't. Detective Salas, with all do respect, what's this got to do with me, and Tuttle?"

Yelina smiled and pulled a document out of Ryan's file. "Well, Officer Wolfe when the Lieutenant praised your efforts at Tuttle he mentioned off handedly that you might have the makings of a CSI. Then I remembered this," she held the paper up between them. "Do you recognize this?"

Ryan couldn't make out any of the words on the paper from his vantage point so he shook his head.

"It's your personal statement from your application package," Yelina explained. "And, it says the main reason you wish to join the force is to eventually work as a criminalist because it would allow you to use your scientific training for the betterment of the community."

Ryan cringed as she paraphrased his ambitions. He always felt like a jack ass when writing personal statements whether it was for graduate school, scholarship applications or entrance to the Academy. There was no way to play one's self up without sounding like a tool.

Yelina noticed his expression and took it to mean he regretted the sentiment the words conveyed, not the words themselves. "Is this an accurate portrayal of your reasons for joining the force Officer Wolfe? Or has something changed?"

"No," Ryan stated forcefully, before softening his tone for the explanation, "no, I want to be a criminalist. More than anything. I just hate the way I sound in those statements. I sound like a pompous asshole."

Yelina laughed a little at this remark. "No, Officer Wolfe, you sound like a dedicated and smart young person; the likes of which we need in law enforcement."

Ryan beamed at her praise. "Thank you Detective."

"However, I'm not sure that you're cut out for your current work." She watched his face drop from elation to dejection.

"I, I don't understand," Ryan stammered.

Yelina smiled again and hoped it would buffer her words. "Relax Officer Wolfe. I'm not saying you aren't cut out to be a police officer. I just think that given your actions at Tuttle you may be suited to something other than Patrol. I also have my suspicions, given the tales I hear about your interactions with your peers, that you may not be happy where you are either."

Ryan scrambled to save face. "You, you can't believe the office rumor mill Detective."

"No," Yelina agreed, "and I don't. But, I do know why rumors get started. Jealousy, or fear of the different and unknown, and I think it's save to say Officer Wolfe that you're different from the average recruit."

"I know I started training later than most. And, I know I come from a different educational background then most of my peers, but," Ryan's voice began to take on a desperate sound, "Detective Salas, you have to believe me when I say I want to be a cop, and I'll do whatever it takes. I won't disregard an order again, I promise."

"Don't make promises you can't keep Officer Wolfe," Yelina smirked at his earnestness. "I think we both know you're always going to be an independent thinker. And, that's not a bad thing. It can just make life as Patrol Officer difficult. That's why I'm recommending that you apply for the position left open by Detective Speedle's death at the Crime Lab."

Ryan was dumbfounded. Could it be true? Was there a position? Was he eligible? He wasn't a Detective. He'd only been out of training for a month.

"But Detective Salas, I'm just a rookie. How can I replace a veteran?" Ryan asked.

"You won't." Yelina ran her hands through her hair before continuing. "You'd start out as a level one CSI. Speedle was a level three. You don't technically have to be a police officer to be a criminalist. That's just the way things have traditionally been done here. I think given how well you performed in training combined with your educational background that you'd be an excellent candidate for the lab. I imagine that you would, however, have to write your promotional exams and become a Detective to move above CSI level one."

Ryan was infused with hope for the first time in weeks. "I could do that! I would do that! Do you think I really have a chance at this job Detective Salas?"

She smiled at him again. "I do, Officer Wolfe, I do. Because of the notes you took at the Tuttle scene Lieutenant Caine, and his team, were made aware of the existence of a possible serial. They arrested a suspect this morning. You didn't let bias against the men in Tuttle blind you to your duty and you got the details. I think you'd be an asset to CSI. And, I think you'd be happier there, than here. So, get me a copy of your resume and I'll do my best to set something up with Lieutenant Caine."

xxXxx

Yelina did speak to Horatio as promised, but being understaffed and overworked meant that the meeting kept getting pushed back. Ryan thought he might never make it out of Patrol until the day he responded to a crime scene that involved a shopaholic and a bus. Lieutenant Caine and CSI arrived, again while Ryan was questioning witnesses, and he figured it was time to take initiative. He approached Horatio, and after briefing the older man about the scene he mentioned the open job competition and his resume.

"Wolfe, Wolfe, Wolfe, why do I know that name?" Horatio had asked once Ryan was finished with his debrief.

"Well, because, because I applied for a job at your lab." Ryan replied. He begged his heart to be braver and continued. "It hasn't been filled yet has it?"

The Lieutenant seemed to recognize his name then. "No it hasn't." He didn't mention that Yelina had been hounding him with the young man's personnel file. "I tell you what Officer Wolfe, why don't you stop by my office later and we'll discuss the position then? Say two o'clock?"

"Yes sir! I'll be there!"

xxXxx

Before he went to meet Lieutenant Caine Ryan sought out Detective Salas and convinced her to accompany him to the interview.

"Well, not accompany exactly." He explained as they walked through Headquarters together. "Just sort of nonchalantly turn up at the same time and then you put in a word for me."

Yelina gave him a, you-must-be-kidding look. "Ryan, Lieutenant Caine is not easily fooled. You should be aware of that if you intend to work for him. I'll come with you, but I'll be upfront with him as to why."

Later, as she walked away with Horatio into a side room and left Ryan sitting in the lab's waiting area, he worried if asking her to come along was the right thing to do. His left knee bounced with anticipation as he panned around the lab for something to distract him from his nerves.

That's when he saw her through the glass walls of her lab. She had short brown curls and was leaning over a centrifuge. Her hair was blocking his view, but Ryan knew she was beautiful. She had to be. Even in a lab coat he could tell her figure was striking. Suddenly, she looked up, and his world came apart.

She was beautiful, and her figure was striking. He knew this, because he knew her. It was Valera. His girlfriend Valera, well former girlfriend, Valera. He knew this woman already, and he loved her. This was all wrong. Why was he here? Why was she there? He'd done this before. He was a CSI.

Ryan jumped up and looked at his hands. He ran them over his body. He seemed to be real and corporal, but this couldn't be; he shouldn't be here. This already happened. What was going on? Was he dreaming? Was he going mad? There was only one way to find out.

"Valera!" He screamed her name but she continued about her work in the lab.

He ran over to the door of the DNA lab and tried to yank it open, but it stuck fast.

"Valera!" He screamed her name and pounded on the glass door. "Valera, it's me! It's Ryan! Valera what's going on?"

She still would not respond to his cries and to Ryan's horror no one else seemed to be able to hear him either. Yelina and Horatio exited the room they'd been talking in and walked past him. They were headed back towards the waiting area; back towards him. Ryan watched in astonishment as his doppelganger, in full uniform, stood up and shook Horatio's hand.

How could this be? He'd just left that seat hadn't he?

"Horatio!" Ryan tried making contact with his former boss. "H! Can you hear me?" He ran towards the one person he thought could save him no matter what trouble he found himself in. "Horatio! Please, can you hear me?" When he got no answer from Horatio Ryan settled on a more general plea. "Please somebody help me!"

The entire world seemed to withdraw in a blur and then snap back with clarity.

"Ryan? Baby can you hear me?"

He turned around and there in front of the DNA lab, where Valera was still puttering about unaware, was Janice.

"Janice?" He was definitely going mad.

She came rushed forward and reached for him. Ryan shrank back from her touch. This was madness. Janice was dead. He was obviously manifesting some kind of psychosis, and during a job interview, no less. Ryan almost wanted to laugh. Of course this hadn't happened before. And, for all he knew the woman in the lab was named Sue Bigglesworth not Maxine Valera. He finally got the opportunity of a lifetime, and no doubt at that very moment Horatio Caine was calling paramedics to tend to his catatonic body and reconsidering any offer of employment.

"Ryan, Honey, it's me. You have to remember what's happening." Janice tried words instead of touch as the former seemed to spook him. "These are your memories, and some of mine. Remember Lenny? We're in your apartment. Sweetie you have to remember or you might get stuck in here. Something happened when I hugged you. I don't know what, but I've been trying to keep up with you ever since."

"This is crazy. This isn't happening." Ryan watched Valera tinker with the centrifuge and he tried again to make her acknowledge him. "Valera, please, Valera help me!"

Janice turned and peered through the lab window. "Is that her? Is that Maxine?"

Ryan moved closer to her now. "How do you know Valera? You can't know Valera?" He looked so defeated now. "You're dead."

Janice cupped his face with her hand. "I know baby, I am. So is Lenny. But, we're both in your bedroom. I know about Valera because Lenny told me about you two." Janice looked back through the glass. "She's very pretty isn't she? You must remember her Ryan. It wasn't until you said her name that I was able to get through to you. If you won't face the rest of it, at least remember her."

Ryan followed Janice's gaze and watched Valera. She had just finished loading sampled into the centrifuge. She straightened up and then reached her hands up over her head. He looked down at her feet and knew immediately what would follow. Sure enough, Valera drew her left foot up to her right knee. It was tree pose, Valera's favorite yoga stance. She did it often at work after spending long hours in a hunched position.

In that moment his memories, and awareness, came racing back to him.

Ryan looked at Janice. "I remember. But, how do we get back?"

Janice wrapped her arms around him. "It's like waking up from a bad dream. I taught you how to do that when you were little remember? Just concentrate really hard on waking up."

Ryan did what she said and again he felt the world give way like it had when she appeared. It was hard going, and he had to fight the urge to turn back back, but eventually the world containing Valera and the lab flipped and spun off its axis. Ryan clung to Janice and had the sensation of tumbling down a long chute.

xxXxx

Miami September 2007-Ryan's Apartment

Lenny sensed Janice and Ryan's return long before the actual impact, but there wasn't much he could do to avoid the collision. Once Ryan returned to himself so to speak Janice was forced out of his body and straight towards Lenny. It is true that supernatural beings tend to be flimsy by nature, at least when dealing with humans, but knock two otherworldly creatures up against each other and it causes quite the crash. The Creator is, after all, not without a sense of humor.

If Ryan had regained consciousness just a few seconds quicker he would have witnessed an unplanned slapstick routine enacted by his former nanny and his comedic idol. As it was he missed Janice's stumbling progression into Lenny that involved a backwards roll and an elbow (hers) to the nose (his).

"Christ!" Lenny rolled over cupping his nose. "You're all grace and poetry in motion aren't you toots?"

"Oh, I'm sorry." Janice got to her knees and crawled towards Lenny. "Are you all right?"

Then Ryan's groan distracted her and she swiveled abruptly to look at him and clipped Lenny in the ear with her foot.

"My God woman! I'm already dead here. There's no need to try and kill me."

"Is he alright?" Janice ignored Lenny's whining and indicated to Ryan. "He'll be okay right? We haven't done any permanent damage."

"Him?" Lenny stared at her incredulously. "He's fine. No physical damage whatsoever unlike some of us in the room."

Ryan moaned again and Lenny got to his feet unsteadily and hobbled towards the bed. "Come on Dorothy," He concentrated on shaking Ryan's shoulder. "You and Toto are back from Oz. Wake up!"

Ryan opened his eyes and blinked a few times. "Great. From one nightmare to another," he choked out hoarsely.

"Come on, sit up," Lenny urged.

Ryan complied and struggled up from the bed. He still felt disoriented and like he was stuck between the past and the present. He rubbed his face and looked around the room until his gaze rested on Janice. An urgency and alertness filled his featured and he darted past Lenny to where Janice knelt on the floor.

"Janice!" He reached for her but she drew back.

He looked so lost at her refusal to touch him that her heart nearly broke. "It's for your own good Sweetie. We might wind up time tripping again. And, we can't risk that. Who knows how much time we've already lost tonight?"

Lenny remained perched on the bed. "Not too much," he replied. "But enough. We'll need to get back soon. It'd be different if I came alone, but we can't risk anyone knowing you're gone."

Janice rolled her eyes at this statement. "He's omnipotent Mr. Bruce. He knew I'd left before I was gone." She moved as close to Ryan as she could without touching him. "But he's right Honey. I have to go soon. So I have to tell you what I came here to tell you."

Ryan interrupted her. "Tell me who killed you Janice. You must know. Or give me a description… anything. I know I'm probably just going mad and imagining you both, but please, if there's any chance, tell me something about your killer."

She smiled at him sadly. "I can't Baby. Besides, what would you tell Detective Taylor? I came to you in a dream and told you who killed me?"

"I don't care how it sounds!" Ryan cried. "Just tell me. I'll kill the bastard myself if I have to. I don't care how it happens Janice he has to pay!"

She shook her head at him. "I can't."

Ryan lunged for her. If she wouldn't tell him he'd go back, back through both their memories till he got to that night. But she, like Lenny before her was always just beyond his reach. "Tell me!" He screamed his frustration.

"She can't" Lenny bellowed drawing both Ryan's and Janice's attention. "She can't tell you because she can't remember."

"What?" Ryan addressed the question to them both. "How can you forget something like that?"

"Because the Boss is merciful!" Lenny exclaimed. "I get you've never been religious kid, but do you think that kind of suffering goes on upstairs? Not a chance. She can't remember because she left that torture behind on Earth."

Ryan faced Janice. "Is this true?"

She nodded slowly and moved to face him. "Sweetie, I can't tell you who killed me. I can't remember. And, even if I could, I wouldn't." He opened his mouth to protest, but she rushed on. "I wouldn't because I'd be afraid what you might do. You're not a murderer Ryan, and I wouldn't make you one. The only thing I can tell you is what Lenny brought me here to say. So here goes," She paused and looked at Lenny, he nodded his assent. "I want you to be happy."

"I can't," Ryan's eyes were full of pleading. "I can't be happy till the man who hurt you is behind bars. Don't you see I haven't been whole since that night?"

"You have to be." Janice repeated. "You have to be happy Sweetie, even if Mac Taylor never finds him. Because it may never happen, but you still have to live your life. You have to deal with your addiction, and you've got to face Maxine and your family. I don't want you to be sad anymore Ryan. I don't want to be the cause of your pain."

"You're not," Ryan's words were mingled with sobs. "The man who killed you caused my pain. Caused all of us pain. Mom, Dad, Rachel, your family. All of us."

Janice remained resolute. "You can't let a nameless, faceless animal ruin your life Ryan. Don't let him have that power. Don't let him win. Promise me you'll talk to your family. Promise me you'll continue to get help. Promise me you'll live. Stop mourning me Sweetheart and start living in my name. Please."

There was nothing he could deny her. Nothing he wouldn't do for her. "I promise."

Janice smiled at him and took a chance by stroking his brow. Thankfully, nothing world changing occurred. "You have to mean it Baby. You've done a lot of good things in my name, but you've done a lot of bad too. The fear, the anger, the gambling, that all stems from my death too. I don't want that to be my legacy. So, you have to mean it when you say you promise."

He thought of Valera then, and every time he'd made a false pledge to her that the gambling was done. The magnitude of his betrayal weighed heavy on him, and he vowed to do better. "I mean it Janice. I mean it, I do."

"I hope so Baby." She said stroking his hair.

"Look I hate to break up this touching scene, but we've gotta motor." Lenny said, moving from his place by the bed. He crouched down by Janice and Ryan. "Look kid, you're probably gonna feel a little raw when you wake up this morning. And, I know you think after having this big moment you've got this thing licked, but I know a thing or two about addiction my friend. So, there's something you're gonna have to do as soon as you get up. Something I should've done when I hit rock bottom."

Ryan swallowed hard. "What's that?"

Lenny stood up and offered a hand to Janice. "Call your sponsor," he said to Ryan while helping Janice up.

With that he and Janice disappeared and Ryan was left dumbstruck that they'd gone without so much a good-bye.

xxXxx

"Janice?" Ryan woke up with a start and peered around his room. He was still in bed where Darrel, Shem and Josh had left him. His jeans were in a knot at the end of the bed where he'd kicked them off. He wanted to believe his nightly visitations were the result of booze, accidental druggings and stress, but it had happened twice now.

He tried to convince himself that a repeat occurrence meant nothing. People had reoccurring dreams all the time, especially when they were under a lot of pressure. He got out of bed, and stumbled to the bathroom to relieve his bladder. It was when he caught sight of himself in the mirror, while washing his hands that things came crashing down. He's caught his own eye and remembered the events of the night in great and minute detail, including his promise to Janice, and the horrible realization of his own short-comings.

He started to feel anxious and short of breath. Washing his hands repeatedly did nothing to calm his emotions. He left the bathroom and paced his apartment in an effort to shake off the coming panic. He knew this feeling. This was the feeling that only gambling could soothe. He started to sweat as the room closed in on him. He sat on the living room floor and drew his knees up to his chest. If he could just wait it out, then he'd defeat the feeling.

From his place on the floor Ryan searched the room for something, anything to distract himself with. His Playstation was still hooked up from the night before, but he didn't think he could concentrate long enough right now to play video games. His eyes followed the line of the wires from the game console to the controllers on the couch. He spotted something jammed in the cushions next to one of the controllers. His cell phone; it must have gotten stuck there after he ordered the pizza.

Ryan scrambled for the electronic device and immediately began searching through his list of contacts until he found the name of the one person he needed the most.

He didn't have to wait long for the person on the other end to pick up. "Mark?"

"Yes?" Mark Gantry always answered calls to this particular number. He used this cell exclusively for his volunteer work with Gamblers Anonymous.

"Mark, its Ryan."

"Ryan. What's wrong?"

Ryan leaned against the couch and tried to formulate some words that would best, and briefly, convey his situation. "Mark, I need some help. I'm, I, just need some help."

Mark had answered enough calls from people in danger of relapsing to know what was up. "Okay, where are you?"

"I'm at my apartment." Ryan made a face at the phone. "It's nine in the morning on a Sunday where else would I be?"

Mark laughed at Ryan's naivety. "After a Saturday night in Miami? As an addict? At home is the last place I expect to find people. Stay where you are. I'll be right there."

Ryan pictured a small boy with dark hair and a big smile. "Are you sure? What about Billy?"

"Ryan, this is what I do. I've made provisions for Billy should the need arise. Don't worry about anything okay, just get a shower and get dressed if you can. I'll call you when I'm at your building." Mark said firmly.

"Okay." Ryan couldn't think of anything else to say.

"Ryan?"

"Yeah?"

"It's going to be okay. You did the right thing, I promise."

_TBC………_


	9. Chapter 9

Author's Note: This is just a little update for anyone who has my two stories "Evenings with Lenny" and "Very Necessary" on alert or anyone who is reading my work in general and enjoys it.

If you've visited my profile at all you know I'm a fan of Jon Togo's. I write Ryan centered stories because I'm a fan of the actor who plays him, and because I get the character (I think that I do anyway) better than I do say, Horatio, who I'd have trouble writing a whole story around.

That said, this past weekend something kind of crap happened. Those of you hardcore Miami fans may already know; on Dec 12th, 2009 Jonathan Togo was arrested on suspicion of domestic violence. This isn't a rumor or slanderous statement (like I said I dig Togo/CSI: Miami/Ryan Wolfe). It's been reported by many, many media outlets the world over and their source is the LAPD itself (use google if you doubt). I can't post any news sources here due to rules, which I respect. Naturally, as a fan I'm pretty shocked. So shocked I'm not sure if I'll be finishing up my current stories.

I believe in innocent till proven guilty. I believe no one knows what went on that night but the people involved and the LAPD. However, I also think domestic violence is a serious issue, and I believe in the rule of law. As in, being a celebrity doesn't exempt you.

I don't know if Mr. Togo will be formally charged. I don't know if he will be exonerated. What I do know is domestic violence is a very serious issue for me personally. And, I view fan fiction as a form of tribute to our favorite shows, and by extension the people on them. For this reason I'm not sure I should continue to write for the character of Ryan Wolfe if the man who portrays him potentially has such serious clay feet.

At the same time not writing suggests I've decided a man's guilt preemptively. And, it also suggests that the character cannot be separated from the person playing them. I'm not sure what my position on that is. I do however, feel that continuing under my pen name, which references Jon's independent work, and pimping his web series in my profile would be not so awesome, if the charges hold. So, maybe I'll wait and see if more details come to light. Maybe I'll just change my pen name and distant myself from promotion of the actor. Or maybe I'll stop. It's mostly maybes because well, it's confusing when you find out people have the potential to fall down.

As I said, innocent till proven guilty, but at the same time, Hollywood justice shouldn't prevail if the charge is real. And, I don't want to participate in Hollywood justice. I'm not gonna go buy Chris Brown's new album. But, I wanted to update these stories just to let you know the dealio and also to say thanks for reading. Seeing my traffic reports on my profile and knowing that people from all over the world read is awesome! You guys are terrific! To anyone that's reviewed, or even taken the time to read my stuff…Thanks! Thanks! Thanks!

And, I might start posting again if I can feel not guilty about writing Ryan centered stories. And, if there seems to be no reason to feel guilty. So, maybe I'll be back in a week, but I'm gonna have to have a think on stuff.

Feel free to put in your two cents in reviews or PM's. But, no flames please. Like I said, I'm not saying he did it, I'm just saying being arrested on suspicion of it, is not so cool on its own. My concern at this point isn't really if he did or didn't, that's for the cops, lawyers and courts to figure out. My dilemma is whether I feel it is morally ok to write for this particular CSI character at the moment. I don't feel very tributary at the moment if you get my flow. So, if you are going to get at me, get at me about your feelings on the separation of character from representative on television, and story writing and creativity in general…not Togo's case. It's not our burden folks. My thoughts to the people who are carrying it.


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